


Poste Italiane

by raisedtokeepquiet



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: (also yes i have noticed i have a thing for letters apparently), (and idiots who aren't able to figure out the other's name), (i am aware), (thanks rou), M/M, Mailman AU, Slow Burn, aka mailmal meta, ermail, i guess, i have no clue where i'm going with this but i'll update tags, i think i'm allowed to say that with this lenght and this inability to figure things out, why does his name pun so well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 86,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedtokeepquiet/pseuds/raisedtokeepquiet
Summary: Ermal Meta is a mailman. One day, he finds out that the house on number 125 has a new owner. A mysterious owner who gets quite a lot of mail. Ermal has to figure out what's going on there.





	1. Chapter 1

Ermal reached in his bag to see if he had any letters for this address. Probably not, as far as he knew the house had been empty for a while, for sale, and the owners had all their mail already redirected to their new address. So he just quickly shot a glance at the next letter he was supposed to deliver, but then paused and reread the number.

125.

He looked at the house again, the number next to the door. 125.

Maybe the house had been sold at last, and the mail for the new owner had started to arrive. Made sense. Ermal walked up to the post box next to path to the front door, and pushed the envelope through the slot. Then he got out the next letter, and to his surprise it was the same address. Well then. He also pushed this envelope through the slot, and picked up the next.

Same address, really? Must be a big family to send so many ‘good luck in the new home’ cards. Finally, the next card was for the neighbouring house, and Ermal made his way over there. 

Three letters in one day, that didn’t happen often, and his mind went over the possibilities. Might be just because of the move, or they had a birthday coming up. A new-born baby, maybe, though he didn’t see any decorations on the house. And who would plan moving house right around the time a baby was expected, that seemed a stupid thing to do.

He continued his round of delivering the mail, the same round he did every day, Sundays and Mondays excluded. He had gotten to know quite some people over the year he had been doing this, and he found he liked it. As usually on Saturday, he finished his week with a cup of coffee at the house of an elderly man who lived at the end of his round.

In one of the first weeks of him working this round as a mail man, the man, Mr Borsato, had broken his wrist, and struggled to get groceries and do other tasks. He did get some help, but it wasn’t really enough, and his children all lived far away. So Ermal had taken pity on him, and helped him out around the house and getting groceries. Since then, their relationship had changed into something like friendship, and they sat each week talking over a cup of coffee.

It also was a nice closure of his working week before the weekend could begin. Not that he had much to do, generally at least, as most of his friends lived in different cities. Originally, his plan had been to move here, try to make it in a career, something big and prestigious, but hadn’t worked as planned. Via various jobs on the side, he had now found a job he liked as a mailman. It wasn’t what he had expected of life, but it wasn’t bad.

The next Tuesday, he collected his bags of mail, which somehow seemed fuller than usual, even when calculating in the weekend rush, and he began his round. Nothing was out of the ordinary, he delivered his bills, letters, postcards, magazines, and other assorted envelopes. Some houses got a few pieces, some none, it was as it always was.

Until he came back to that house. Number 125. Expecting a few different letters and cards, as surely the well-wishes for whatever it was weren’t all sent yet, he rummaged through his bag to get them out at once, instead of going in one after one.

He had expected a  _ few _ letters. Yes. He hadn’t expected the pile he actually got out of his bag. This couldn’t be, right? He double checked the address on each one, but they were all addressed to this street, this number. Okay. One by one, Ermal pushed them through the slot in the mailbox, with each one more questions popped up in his head. So much mail, where did it all come from? Must really be something special. Finally, he dropped the last one, and moved on to the rest of his round, though the questions didn’t disappear as easily as the letters had.

Luckily, he managed to get his curiosity under control. Luckily, because not being able to do so was a rather unfortunate personality trait for a mail man to have (and had led some into trouble in the past, the juicy stories circulated amongst Ermal’s colleagues).

The rest of the week passed more normally, only a handful of letters at most each day. Still more than usually, but apparently this particular address had a different level of normalcy than the other houses in the neighbourhood.

The next Tuesday, Ermal was prepared for the stack of letters he found in his bag addressed to the house on number 125. Again, he fed them to the letter box one by one. Only, after a few, he noticed that they didn’t disappear anymore.

The letter box was full.

Admittedly, it wasn’t a big one, and the amount of mail it had gotten to process lately had been rather a lot, but a letter box was not a sentient being that had decided to go on a strike, but rather the owners had neglected to take out the mail. For a while, apparently. Some alarm bells went off in Ermal’s head, some horror stories the veterans had told the newly hired mail men about murder mysteries or tragic deaths only discovered because the mail piled up and it showed something was wrong.

So he stood there, for a minute, a bit frozen, undecided. Of course the stories were just that, stories, and there would be a perfectly mundane explanation. Short holiday. Business trip. Final things to settle with the previous house.

The point was, he had to deliver these letters. So, making up his mind, he rang the doorbell decisively and did a polite step back. And waited.

And waited.

He was exactly on the brink of giving up and stuffing the letters back in his bag to return to the post office later, when he heard some stumbling in the hallway behind the door. The clanking sound of keys, and then the lock was turned and the door opened.

“Shit,” it sounded softly, as the man who emerged managed to hit himself in the foot with the opening door, and then he looked apologetically and questioningly up at Ermal.

Ermal, for a moment, only stared. The man looked barely awake, even though it was two in the afternoon, with bare feet and sweat pants. His shirt was on backwards and his hair was sticking in every direction that was physically possible, and maybe a few that were not.

“Um, excuse me, but I am here to deliver the mail,” Ermal started, feeling a bit silly for explaining, when he was standing right there, in his uniform, with his bags, and a stack of envelopes in his hand. “But it seems that your letter box is full.”

The man scratched his head for a bit, and Ermal noticed the tattoo on his hand, and the ones on his arm, disappearing in the t-shirt sleeves. The man continued to stare at the letter box for a short moment, still processing the message, apparently. Then he nodded, and got out his keys again. Fumbling with them, he managed to find the one that would open the letter box. He stepped out onto the path, Ermal hastily retreating as he did so, and watched as the man flinched when his foot hit the cold stones and then took a few tries to open the letter box.

It happened all in silence, it was a bit surreal. But Ermal also didn’t know what else to say, so he decided to just keep quiet as well.

Finally, the man opened the letter box, and with a screeching sound, the door flew open, and a stream of envelopes poured out onto the ground. The man only watched, in silence, a bit helplessly, as envelope after envelope floated down.

Ermal suppressed the urge to giggle, lost the fight, and managed to turn it into a faked cough instead. This man was just so  _ unprepared _ , was this how he approached the world?

After his coughing fit was over and he’d gotten a grip of himself again, Ermal took the man, who was still staring at the envelopes, gently by his shoulders and pushed him back towards the hallway. Then he crouched down and started gathering all the envelopes. These were at least from last Thursday, if he wasn’t mistaken.

Ermal had gathered all envelopes, the various sizes making them an uneasy pile in his hands, and he looked at the man again. He hadn’t really seemed to have moved much, except for the hand he was running across his eyes, likely in some attempt of waking up a bit more and deal with this unexpected turn of events.

“Where can I put these?” Ermal asked, a bit hesitatingly, when it was clear that the man was not going to take them from him.

“Oh, um, just, on the stairs, maybe?”

The man stepped back into the dark of the hallway and Ermal followed. The stairs curved up with a platform two steps up. The man gestured to put them there, and Ermal did, but not without noticing the other stack of envelopes already there.

“Yes, okay, thank you. I’ll make sure to empty the box sooner. Or get a bigger one. This won’t happen again. Thank you so much.”

The man had finally seemed to have found his voice and some semblance of politeness.

“Sure, you’re welcome. Have a nice day!” With that, Ermal turned and walked out of the house, and with each step he did, he had more questions.

How much mail did this man get? Why? The curiosity got harder and harder to suppress. Why didn’t he empty his letter box, had he been away after all? Why leave everything on the stairs, unread? His behaviour had just been so puzzling, so strange. Who was this man? For once, Ermal cursed himself how he had learnt to only focus on the address on an envelope. A name would have been helpful now, it might have given him some answers, but all he knew was a street name, a number, and a postcode. He would have to wait for tomorrow, for surely then there would be a new stack of letters. He could figure out the name of this mysterious man, he was sure of that, he thought, even as he told himself his only job was to deliver the mail, not get distracted by the interesting people receiving it.

But distracted he was. He kept seeing flashes of that hair, those tattoos, the backwards shirt, and he also remembered shockingly clearly the man’s voice, even though he hadn’t said a lot. It was low, it was raspy, and it hit all Ermal’s buttons, in ways he didn’t want to linger on too long. He didn’t know anything about this man, only that he just moved, had issues dressing himself (which really shouldn’t be as cute as it was, said like that it sounded terrible), and got an awful lot of mail.

But he could find out more. He would find out more. Starting with the man’s name. Yes.

Unfortunately, that was not what fate had in store, because the next day, for the first time in a while, there was no letter addressed to number 125. Not a single one. Ermal stared at his bag, wondering how the universe could be so cruel. He could do nothing else than walk on by the house that now so intrigued him. Or rather, it wasn’t the house that intrigued him, but rather the man inside. As he passed by, though, he couldn’t help but stare, taking the opportunity to get any information at all to add to the little he knew about this man. (And yes, he checked, but the mail box did not have a name on it. Pity, that.)

What he did see, however, rather chilled his heart. Or at least, it made him realize that this man was not as available as Ermal had rather hoped he’d be. For he saw a little girl sitting on a couch, watching television, and then a few steps later, a little boy, a bit older than the girl from what Ermal could guess, was playing with a football in the fenced garden next to the house. Family man. Of course. Taken. Of course.

Ermal sighed, and cursed himself as he continued his round. His disappointment now was totally out of proportion. He had seen the man for what, five minutes? And he’d hardly made a stellar first impression, with his clothes and his hair (but his  _ clothes _ , and his  _ hair… _ ). There was nothing that might have hinted at any interest, any interest in any way at all, so really, these feelings were not justified.

He knew that, and he told himself over and over to make it extra clear, but it did not make the feelings go away. So he continued his round, trying to convince himself he was being stupid. Mind over matter. He could just carry on as if nothing had changed. He could. And nothing had changed. Okay, the house had a new occupant, but his job was only to deliver the mail. That’s what he was paid to do, and that is what he would do. Nothing more, nothing less. Definitely nothing more, though.

That evening, Ermal was sat on his couch with a book. Not reading, because his thoughts were otherwise occupied. Even though he had tried very hard not to, his mind kept circling back to that man in the house on number 125, that man as yet without a name... Ermal knew it was useless, it was stupid, the man had a family, he should stop his delusional fantasies. And he did, for a little while. But he didn’t stop thinking about the man, because delusional fantasies or not, there were still so many questions that floated around in his head.

Then, he had the most genius idea ever, if he said so himself. He did not know the man’s name, no, but he did know his address. Surely, it would be possible, with today’s great technology to look up the name belonging to that address? He booted up his laptop and opened the browser. He then opened the phone book’s website and found the option for a reverse search. Perfect. Now he would finally know this mysterious man’s name. Maybe then a google search would tell him more about who he was and why he received such massive amounts of mail. That would be enough, Ermal could leave his delusional fantasies behind if he just had answers.

He clicked the ‘search’ button, trying to ignore how his heart fluttered as the page loaded.

“Ms. R. Pescari”

Ermal blinked as he read the name registered at the address.

That was not Mr. Crazy-hair. Because that was the woman who had lived in the house before, whose letters he had delivered for a year. Apparently, the entry had not been updated. Now he still did not know a name, and he still did not know any answers. This had been a waste of time. Sighing, he closed his laptop and decided to shower and sleep.

The next day, Ermal started excitedly with his mail round. He did not expect, for one single moment, that today would again bring no letters for the man. Today was the day he would finally find out his name. Impatiently, he delivered his letters, counting streets and then houses until he would finally know. Finally, he was there, and reached into his bag.

There was only one letter, a bill by the looks of it, but that was okay, one was enough. More than enough.

“Mr Mobrici”

Ha. A name. Right there. Good. With a smile on his face, Ermal continued his route, and again he couldn’t suppress the urge to sneak a peek through the windows and into the garden. What he saw did in no way, no way at all, help his fantasies. Because while the house was empty, the garden was not. In the garden was Mr Mobrici, together with his children, playing with them, wearing a shirt without sleeves, which did a wonderful job of showing off his arms, toned and tattooed as they were. And just maybe, maybe, Ermal slowed down a little. And stared. Because it was rather a sight, something he wanted to remember.

Then the little girl looked up, saw him (oh god, she saw him), waved, and said excitedly, “Look, papa, the mailman!”

The man looked up, and Ermal wanted the pavement beneath his feet to open up and swallow him. What helped slightly, was that the man – Mr Mobrici, he had a name now – quickly looked away, blushing slightly. Apparently, he was as uncomfortable as Ermal was.

“Yes, Anita, I see.”

“Papa, do you think you have lots and lots of letters again? Can I help you open them?”

“No, Anita, remember how I said we will first get a new letter box? A bigger one, so that they will all fit? After we get the new box, I will get letters again. And of course, then you can help me, my dear.”

He looked up at Ermal again, as he said that, and Ermal felt his cheeks heat up. Also, he realized that he really had no business still standing here, like he was, even though he couldn’t remember he had given any command to his legs to stop moving. With an embarrassed cough, he started walking again, very much not looking at the garden or the people in it. The pavement would do fine. So interesting, this particular bit of pavement. As he did so, trying not to break out into a run, he heard the girl’s voice coming from the garden.

“Thank you Mr. Mailman!”

And when someone said something like that, especially a little girl as sweet as Anita seemed to be, you replied. You had to.

“It’s my pleasure, Anita,” he said, and then, because why not, he had pretty much dug his own grave already with his staring and his thoughts, “Have a good day Mr Mobrici.”

There was a second of silence, and then the answer came.

“Thank you, you too.” 

Again, that raspy voice, that lovely raspy voice, though it sounded hesitant, and seemed like a question. Had Ermal misread his name? Mispronounced? Misdelivered? He was pretty sure he hadn’t, he had been way too focused on this, so why was the man so surprised to be called by his name? Maybe it was just the surprise of Ermal knowing his name at all, as they had not been introduced properly. But he was the mailman, he had access to that kind of information, even if he had been stupid enough to forget that until today.

He continued his round, hastily, wanting to go home and google this name. Surely something would come up, right. Ermal was so lost in thought that he almost forgot to greet Mr Borsato who was sitting in his garden with a newspaper. He would surely not hear the end of that on Saturday. But for now, he didn’t care. He was home, finally home, with this golden ticket to answers in his head.

So he got his laptop, opened the browser, and typed ‘Mobrici Roma’, and looked excitedly at the results.

Rather disappointing results, he saw, as his good mood evaporated. There were some reviews to something, but the link was broken, so it would remain a mystery forever what was being reviewed. Some useless results from the phone book website, and the top result was a very fancy legal office. Ermal didn’t want to judge anyone, but he couldn’t see this man (with his  _ hair _ and his  _ clothes  _ and his  _ tattoos _ ) working as a high-end lawyer. It just didn’t add up. And while he assumed lawyers got a lot of mail, it was probably more official looking than the random shapes and sizes and colours he had delivered to the Mobrici residence so far.

Useless.

Now he still didn’t know  _ anything _ .


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Ermal will find out something he's been trying to figure out for a while. And he also finds out some things he wasn't expecting.

The next day passed awfully uneventfully, because again there was no letter for number 125, and this time there was also no one to look at (or talk to) in the house or in the garden. But with regards to the letters, maybe it wasn’t surprising, because hadn’t Mr Mobrici told Anita that there would be none until he got a new mail box? So then now he just got the normal amount of letters everybody got, which was only the odd bill once in a while. Still, it meant he had some way of controlling this flow of mail, which was interesting in itself. How did he do that? Why still have all those letters delivered to his house? Why not _open_ them? Though, he did, open them, at some point, because his daughter had wanted to help with that…

Delivering letters, this was Ermal’s job, this is what he did, and it was what he liked, but somehow it was different now. He didn’t want to just deliver some letters, he still wanted answers, and he wanted to know more about this man. Maybe it was going to be like torture, but he could be friends, at least, with this man, right? Like he was friends with Mr Borsato. Meet for coffee every once in a while, talk about their lives, or about nothing in particular. He could have that, at least, if nothing else. He still wanted answers, he was somehow inexplicably intrigued by this man. He wanted to spend time with him. Be a part of his life, in just a small way, though definitely bigger than just being the mailman. Was that too much to ask?

That Saturday, it was finally the end of another week of work. And what a week it had been…

“You’re late today, Ermal. It’s not nice to keep an old man like me waiting. You never know what might happen.” Mr Borsato said with a smile as he opened the door to Ermal.

“Oh hush, you’re fine, you’re not going anywhere. And besides, I can explain.”

Mr Borsato settled in his chair after he had poured a cup of coffee for Ermal and one for himself.

“It better is a good story.”

“Oh, it is,” Ermal said and then continued, “You know that curvy road leading to the park? Yes? So one of the houses there had been for sale for a long time, but it’s finally been sold and the new owners moved in. And you’d say there’s nothing strange about that, and there isn’t, except for one thing: The amount of mail they get! It’s totally unbelievable. Last Tuesday I came to deliver letters, and there were so many they didn’t fit the post box. Can you imagine that? Just a very normally sized post box. And it was too small!”

Ermal smiled as he thought of the letters streaming out of the mail box while he and Mr Mobrici just watched. Mr Borsato also chuckled, and asked, “But how does that make you late today? Was there another attack of paper?”

“No, no, today they were installing a new letter box. A big one. A very big one. I don’t think they’ll ever run out of space again.”

Ermal couldn’t help but replay the images of a sweaty Mr Mobrici he had encountered today, struggling to move the box to the right position, muscles flexing, clearly visible, because he had taken his shirt off.

He had taken his shirt off.

Of course, Ermal had to find an excuse to look at that. Ogle a bit, maybe, while friendly, _helpfully_ asking if he could be of assistance. And he could. So he was of assistance, putting the box to the right place, and afterwards, the man had finally looked up at him, thanked him, and then said with a strange, slightly loaded look in his eye, “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves yet, I’m Fabrizio.”

He put some emphasis on his name, and looked intently at Ermal, who looked back and told Fabrizio his name, not really paying attention to what was going on around him, because he finally knew the man’s name. First name. Full name. Fabrizio Mobrici.

He was looking forward to another night of googling, maybe finally getting some answers. Though, this time, he was in no hurry to leave. Those answers could wait, because right now he was offered a cold beer and there was no way in the world he was going to say no to that.

Here he now was, sitting in Fabrizio Mobrici’s backyard, nursing his beer, while trying to make small talk, and, okay, maybe trying to find a way to get some answers anyway. But that was only common sense, right, getting those answers straight from the source. A source that had put his shirt back on, when he went to get the beers. Such a shame, but much better for Ermal’s ability to concentrate.

The small talk was going well, Ermal talked about his job (trying to steer the conversation to the letters, but Fabrizio managed to deflect those subtle remarks skilfully), they talked about their hobbies, they talked about the music they liked. Surprisingly, they had quite a lot in common, and conversation flowed smoothly.

Finally, there was a gap in their talking, and Ermal looked around him before taking a deep breath and asking, “Aren’t Anita and... your son around today?”

Answers. His goal was answers, find facts to store, and also just getting to know this man, spend time with him, because it seemed Fabrizio was not opposed to that.

“Oh no, not today, Libero and Anita are over at their mother’s place for the weekend. I usually work in the weekends, so it’s a good solution.”

Ermal’s treacherous heart made a tiny jump in his chest. Split up, then? He knew his chances were still close to zero, nothing would ever be between them, but at least they were a bit higher now. Weren’t they? Before Ermal was quite finished with that thought process, and long before he could have formed any reply, Fabrizio continued.

“But speaking of work, I’m so sorry, I have kept you from yours long enough. Really, I completely forgot the time, I’m sorry. Though it was nice to meet you. Properly, I mean.” Fabrizio got up and took Ermal’s empty bottle from him.

It was a bit abrupt, Ermal would not have minded staying a while longer. But he was, against all evidence, not a complete fool, and knew when he was overstaying his welcome. So he only shook Fabrizio’s hand and said “It was indeed nice to meet you.”, and left, and finished his round a bit dreamily, thoughts occupied. Very occupied.

Ermal was shaken from those dreamy thoughts by Mr Borsato’s meaningful whistling.

“Well, well, well, someone has made an impression on you. Someone who receives a lot of mail, perhaps? Who would have known that’s the way to a mail man’s heart?”

Ermal could do nothing more than blush. Blush a lot, because Mr Borsato was rather right. He had tried to ignore it but he knew he had failed. Maybe his heart wasn’t lost yet, or not completely at least, but it was a battle he was losing.

Ermal got up and paced around the room, trying to escape Mr Borsato’s inquisitive gaze. He had come to know the man in the past year over their weekly coffee, and he knew him well enough to know that he wanted to get to the bottom of this. And with details. So often he had been asked if there was someone in his life, someone who had taken his heart and kept it, and Ermal had always replied that no, there wasn’t.

That had been the truth. But now there was someone. And he wanted to share it with someone, he did. But was Mr Borsato the right person? He was nice, yes, his views seemed all right, but they had never discussed topics like these in detail. He had never told him he liked men as well as women.

So should he tell him? He was so unsure of the old man’s reaction, but he didn’t want to hide this either. It had never been a part of himself he had hidden. He had told his mother almost as soon as he knew himself, and her reaction was the best he could have gotten. His siblings knew and didn’t blink an eye. His friends knew, he had not so much sat them down and told them but just acted like himself and they had taken it in stride. But Mr Borsato was from a different generation, there was no knowing how he would react.

As Ermal was still pacing, his thoughts going over this again and again, he suddenly froze. He had passed the cabinet on which a few CDs were lying. He stared at the top one, and, with a trembling hand, took it to inspect it more closely.

Those eyes. That hair. That smile. He didn’t need to see any tattoos to know exactly who that was. Fabrizio Mobrici.

Except, not Mobrici, apparently. Moro.

What?

How?

“Ermal, my boy, are you okay?”

The worried voice of Mr Borsato cut through the static in his head, and Ermal tried his hardest to compose himself, to appear functional, even though he wasn’t, not at all.

“Yes, yes. This… music, do you like it?”

He got a strange look in return.

“Yes, I do, you know that. I usually play his music when you’re here. You also told me you like it. What is going on?”

Ermal was quiet, trying to wrap his head around this discovery. He had answers now, all right.

_Mr Mobrici was Fabrizio Moro. He had been delivering mail to this famous singer. A very handsome, very famous singer._

“Ermal?”

_The mail, it was fan mail._

He sank down in his chair again, trying to process everything.

“Ermal, are you saying you delivered fan mail to Fabrizio Moro, without realizing who he was?”

Ermal looked up, wondering how Mr Borsato knew this, until it hit him that maybe, possibly, he had in fact spoken aloud.

“This someone who has you so smitten… Ermal?”

Here it was, the decision made for him. He still was completely undecided whether he wanted to have this known, but it was too late now, Mr Borsato knew. A bit nervously he looked at the old man, but he was determined to stand his ground. There was nothing wrong with him, and if it would cost him this friendship, so be it. He tried to prepare himself for the negative comments that would surely follow, and felt his hands tremble.

But nothing came.

So Ermal waited, and looked.

“Oh Ermal, don’t say you were afraid to tell me?”

“I… I didn’t know how…” Ermal stammered, trying to catch up with the fact that the grand reveal was not very grand after all.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t be yourself, that was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“You didn’t, it wasn’t like that, I just wasn’t sure how you would react, as… well, you know…”

“I’m old. Yes. I know. Thanks, Ermal. No, but I don’t want to turn this into a joke. I must say I suspected it.”

“Suspected it? But how?”

“Well, you know, sometimes you have that little feeling, when you just… you just _know_. You know.”

Ermal stared at Mr Borsato, that surely was the vaguest speech he had heard him give, ever. Usually the man said exactly what he thought, or at least made sure all the implicit information was interpretable in one way only.

And he fidgeted, Mr Borsato, he was tracing the patterns on the old-fashioned table cloth. Which was also strange, he was never nervous, or at least never showed any signs of it. In all the time that Ermal had known him, he had seemed confidence itself.

It was quiet in the room for a bit, while Ermal tried to put together what all this meant. Was Mr Borsato trying to tell him something?

“What… What exactly are you saying?” Ermal managed, at last.

Mr Borsato closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, and fixed them on Ermal.

“I am saying that I am gay.”

“But… You’re… Your wife?”

Mr Borsato heaved a deep sigh before he replied. “It was a different time then. I did what was expected of me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my wife. It was not her fault, and we had a good life together.”

He was silent for a moment, clearly lost in memories, and Ermal used this time to reorder everything in his mind. This day, it was a day of revelations, it seemed.

Then, Mr Borsato continued, “But you, my boy, you have so many possibilities. Times have changed. Attitudes have changed. I am so proud of you, for your confidence, and for how you have accepted yourself. – No, don’t interrupt me. – I watch you and see all that could have been. And it fills me with so much hope, to see how the world changes for the better.”

Ermal just stared, wondering where this was going, but realizing he rather wanted to stay on the topic of his own realization. The answers he finally had. Some other time, he would get back to this, talk about this more, because he wanted to know more, but not right now.

“The world might have changed, but that doesn’t help me right now. I knew before that he would never like me like that, but he’s _famous_. And what am I? No one. Just a guy who brings around the mail.”

“Oh, Ermal,” Mr Borsato started, but Ermal interrupted him.

“Don’t ‘Oh, Ermal’ me. It will change nothing. I don’t want to talk about this. Now, tell me about something that happened to you this week.”

The rest of his visit passed as always, sipping coffee and talking, laughing together. It was like nothing had changed, and that was the way it should be, because really, nothing had.

Then, Ermal forced himself to wait at least until Sunday to do any googling, or any research at all. He was far enough gone as it was, so he was going to take an evening to focus on anything else than Fabrizio Moro, just to clear his head.

At least, that was the plan. But when he had settled in front of the TV – reading was no good, his thoughts kept wandering off – he saw that fate had something else planned. Because there was some strange talent show going on. He’d never watched it before, and definitely didn’t want to now either. Except, when he passed the channel in his search for something to watch, there was a certain famous singer right there. A certain famous singer he had been trying to avoid.

Of course, now he was right there, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. He was just going to sit, and stare, and listen. Because yes, Mr Borsato was right, he liked this music. This song, he had listened to often, and when it came on the radio he always turned up the volume a bit. And now he finally knew what the singer looked like.

Hot, is what he looked like. Sleeveless denim shirt, half unbuttoned, showing off his arms and tattoos and Ermal liked it a lot. And then the facial expressions he made – he was supposed only to sing, right, surely that did not need such looks? Such movements? That _tongue_? It was enough to drive anyone crazy.

Far too soon for Ermal’s tastes it was over. He kept watching for a bit, but apparently after he’d blown a final kiss to the audience, Fabrizio left the stage, not to return tonight. So Ermal sat there, on his couch, a bit overwhelmed. Finally, he went to bed, realizing this day had been long enough already, with enough to think about and to put in its proper place. The rest would come later.

Of course, he spent the rest of his weekend on the internet. Google, yes, a little, but he didn’t need it much now that he knew Fabrizio’s name and also why he would receive all the mail. Those questions had been answered. So really, he didn’t have a single excuse why he was still doing this. Or at least, he didn’t have one that he wanted to admit, not even to himself.

So he spent his days on the internet, watching videos, listening to songs, looking up lyrics. And even if he didn’t admit it, not even to himself, he did fall a bit more for this man with everything he saw. It was rather inconvenient really. It was one thing to fall for one of the people he delivered mail to, he could just pine from afar if he needed to, or try his luck and strike up a conversation when the opportunity presented itself. It was one thing to fall for some singer, unreachable, unattainable, never more than just an idea. But to do both, at the same time, with the same person? Surely that was torture reserved especially for some inner circle of hell?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal tries to live his life with the discovery he's made, and succeeds, mostly. Marco visits, and he delivers letters. What can possibly go wrong?

The weekend had passed, and now it was back to a week of delivering letters. It should have been normal, like it always was. Of course, Ermal knew that with the installation of the bigger mail box, he might expect more mail than usual for number 125, though maybe not immediately on Tuesday, surely it would take some time to conjure up the letters from wherever they were hiding now. Still, that was not that different from usual, still the same job, dropping letters in the correct boxes. He could do that.

So why was he so… nervous? But he couldn’t help it. He had figured out who Fabrizio was, and he wondered if it had changed anything. It shouldn’t, he knew that, he was just another man, who just so happened to be famous.

But still, he wondered if it changed anything. Should he knock? Ring the doorbell?

Of course not, because then what would he say? “Hello, I finally figured out you’re famous and I actually really like your music, I’m just stupid”? Yes, that would go over well.

What he should do was just do his job and nothing more. Leave Fabrizio Moro in peace, to live his life. He didn’t need anyone to stalk him, and least of all Ermal.

But, a part of Ermal’s brain tried to reason, it wasn’t like he was a crazy fan or anything. He just really liked this man. He liked him as Fabrizio Moro, yes, but he had liked him when he was Fabrizio Mobrici, talking in the garden, lifting the post box. He had liked him as Mr Mobrici, playing with his children. He had liked him when he didn’t have a name at all, staring at dozens of letters on bare feet and wearing a backwards shirt.

It wasn’t about the music, it wasn’t about the fame, it never had been. It was about the man himself, though to be honest, he knew very little about him at all.

So what to do? Where to take this? What to say? Was there any chance that he could maybe make this work?

Then Ermal caught himself. Of course there wasn’t. He shouldn’t get lost in useless fantasies. Fabrizio Moro was out of his league. He always had been, and he always would be, no matter if his name changed another four times.

Ermal would just do his job, delivering letters like he was paid to do. Being a friendly, helpful presence in the street for a short few minutes each day. Friends, he and Fabrizio might become, but nothing else. It would not be. He should forget about it, and be happy with what he got.

And surprisingly enough, he managed, at least this week. What helped there was that there were hardly any letters for Fabrizio at all, as Ermal had suspected, he apparently hadn’t requested the letters to be send on to his house again yet. What also helped, even as Ermal tried to suppress the slight feeling of disappointment in his chest that it also caused, was that Fabrizio was simply not around. Ermal didn’t see him all week, the house was as empty as the garden.

Fabrizio probably had something to do, something important. Something work-related, no doubt, or maybe a holiday. Ermal surprised himself by not going to look for answers for these questions. He could probably find them, somewhere online, if he just delved deep enough. But he didn’t want to do that. It was one thing to look for a name online, it was already something different to spend two days staring at videos like a lovesick teenager, but actually finding relevant information about what Fabrizio was doing right now, that was entering some shady territory.

And that’s definitely not what Ermal wanted. He wanted to know this man, yes, but he wanted a real connection, not just some twisted facts of some random blog or from a sensational journalist’s article. He had delivered enough gossip magazines to the older ladies in the neighbourhood to know that those were seldom flattering, and very rarely wrote the truth.

So he went about his work as he had always done, before Fabrizio moved to his round, and it was okay. At the end of the week, Ermal was rather glad that Fabrizio was away. It gave him some time to compose himself, to think of what to do, what not to do.

That Saturday, he again sat at the table with Mr Borsato, sipping is coffee. He deftly deflected any questions about a certain singer, though he couldn’t help but notice that Mr Borsato was playing one of his CDs. It was not too difficult to change the subject, there was nothing new to tell, and Ermal refused to share his feelings. Instead, he finally asked Mr Borsato to tell more about himself, as he had resolved to do, last week. Now he could pay the proper attention to what the man had to tell, now he wasn’t occupied with putting names to certain faces in his head.

Time flew by, and Ermal learned things he had never expected behind this man, but he was glad that he finally knew, that that trust was there. Finally, he had to leave though, because Ermal was supposed to meet Marco at the station. He was in Rome for work, and they’d agreed to meet up for the weekend. Ermal had rather been looking forward to it, he hadn’t seen his friend in ages.

So he said his goodbyes to Mr Borsato, and made his way to the station. He didn’t have to wait long before Marco arrived, and he picked him out of the crowd easily enough.

“Marco! Here I am!”

Marco spotted Ermal, came up to him and they embraced shortly.

“It’s so nice to see you again!”

“I know, it’s been so long! But I have to be in Rome quite a few times the coming time, so you won’t be rid of me this easily again!”

Together, they made their way out of the station and walked towards Ermal’s place. On the way, they got some take-away dinner and ate it on the couch, while talking and catching up.

Finally, the food was gone, but the topics to discuss hadn’t been exhausted yet, so they stayed there on the couch, talking about all the things that happened to them in the past weeks (well, not _all_ the things. Ermal decided to keep some recent events to himself). Then their conversation moved on to future plans, and in particular what they would be doing this weekend.

“Let me quickly check some things online,” Ermal said, while dragging his laptop closer to him. “I’m sure we can find something to do.”

He opened up the laptop and waited until it booted up. He hadn’t shut it down, just closed it, last time he used it, and that he found out now. Because Fabrizio’s voice started filling the room, quite loudly. Oops.

Ermal scrambled to open the browser and close the tab where the music was playing, while trying to not get red as a tomato.

Luckily, Marco didn’t seem to notice. He only looked up when he heard the music, and said, “I didn’t know you like his music?”

Ermal didn’t want to meet Marco’s eyes, sure it would betray that it wasn’t so much the music in itself – yes, he liked that, but he would have been content just listening to it once a week at Mr Borsato’s place, or occasionally on the radio – it was the person behind the music.

“You do too?” he asked instead, still fumbling with the laptop.

“Yes! I actually went to his concert a few months ago, it was so amazing! He’s really great live! – But Ermal, if I’d known you liked him, I’d have asked you along! We could have gone together… But let’s go next time!”

Ermal just stared blankly ahead as Marco rambled on enthusiastically, trying not to get caught on those words ‘you liked him’, because wasn’t that exactly the situation, but in a different way that Marco thought? Luckily, there were other realizations to be made. For example, did _everyone_ know about this singer except for him? If Marco had been to a concert, he knew what Fabrizio looked like. So had Mr Borsato. So was Ermal really the only clueless one who hadn’t known and had spent _weeks_ trying to figure out who this mysterious an with all the mail was?

Also, this opened up new possibilities. A concert. Yes, he’d love to go to a concert. He’d seen the videos, the shaky recordings made by someone in the audience at a concert, at a festival, and even that looked absolutely amazing. Why hadn’t it crossed his mind that he could go there, and look at Fabrizio without shame?

“Ermal?”

“Uh, yes? Did you say something?”

Marco laughed.

“I only asked you about three times if you have an idea what we can do tomorrow. What had your thoughts all occupied?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. I don’t know what I’m looking for… What if we just go to town and see what’s happening? Or do you have any ideas?”

“No, that’s fine, you know I’m always up for that. Always, except now. Is it too early to go to sleep yet? It’s been a long day.”

Ermal agreed, and to sleep they went. The next day was spent agreeably in the city. Lunch at some cafe, then wandering around the streets, shopping a little, watching people, talking, joking, having fun. A drink here or there, dinner at a nice restaurant, more drinks in a bar.

On Monday they woke up with slightly pounding heads, though both tried to pretend it wasn’t so. They had a slow start, until the slowness became fast when Marco realized he was running out of time to catch his flight. Their goodbye was quick, with promises of phone calls and planned trips in the future. And a concert, if Fabrizio Moro would be kind enough to announce another tour.

Tuesday passed normally, though with rather a lot of letters for the house at number 125, and while the house showed signs of being lived in again, he didn’t see that man he wished to see. Once more, it crossed Ermal’s mind if he should do something, say something…

But no. No. He was going to let this man live in peace. He would just deliver letters, make some friendly small talk when the chance presents itself, and then on the side, he could also like the artist. Listen to the music. Maybe go to a concert. But separate the two. He could do that. It seemed Fabrizio was doing exactly the same thing, with the Mobrici / Moro distinction, and Ermal could follow that example. He could happen to like both versions of this man, in different contexts. Yes.

Then on Wednesday, Ermal made his round, as he always did, trying to have no expectations whatsoever when he reached a certain street. And it worked surprisingly well. At one of the houses a baby had been born, he saw by the sign in the front garden, so he prepared himself for some extra cards there next week. It was always so nice to see how friends and family celebrated the arrival of a little one. A little human being was welcomed to the world, and Ermal hoped that they would get all the love the cards promised.

Occupied by those thoughts as he was, he only noticed the girl skipping up to him when she was right in front of him.

“Hello Mr Mailman! Do you have a letter for me?”

“Hello Anita! Unfortunately I don’t have any for you, but I have some for your dad. Do you want to give them to him? You would help me a lot!”

Anita nodded excitedly, happy that she could help him with this important task of delivering the letters. Ermal got the pile of letters from the bag, there were just a few today, easy enough for Anita to carry.

“Here they are, now be careful and don’t lose them!”

“I will look after them very well!” Anita promised, and skipped home again. Ermal watched her go with a smile on his face. This was one of the things he liked a lot about his job, the sweet children who always were excited to help and deliver the letters. It more than made up for the aggressive dogs he sometimes encountered and the rain he occasionally got caught out in.

Only on Friday he finally saw Fabrizio again, who was leaning against his door, watching Libero and Anita play. Ermal lingered a bit at the neighbour’s post box, just so he could look at that scene for a bit longer from the corner of his eye. Then he made his way over to Fabrizio, greeting him with a nod.

“Hello Ermal, you can just give the letters to me, no need to put them in the box, not while I’m standing right here.”

Ermal handed over the envelopes addressed to Fabrizio with a smile. Anita and Libero ran over when they saw that Ermal was there to deliver mail.

“Papa, can we help you open them? Please?”

“Of course, my dears. But when mama arrives you have to go, okay?” Fabrizio looked at his children with a soft smile on his face. Ermal didn’t want to look away from that, but his attention was demanded by the girl tugging at his sleeve.

“Mr Mailman, do you know what people write to papa?”

“No, I don’t,” Ermal replied, though he had a vague idea what people might write to tell Fabrizio. Surely it was something very like the things he thought himself when he listened to his music or saw him perform.

“They tell him how much they love him and his music! Do you know papa’s music?” Anita looked up at him with big eyes, while Libero scoffed, grabbed the letters from Fabrizio’s hands, and went inside.

“Yes, I do, and I like it a lot,” Ermal answered, honestly, and looked over at Fabrizio. He expected to see a smile, maybe, or at least some acknowledgement of the compliment that it was. What he didn’t expect was the closed, dark look that he saw on Fabrizio’s face, nor had he anticipated the singer’s behaviour.

“Come Anita, let’s go inside. I’m sure the mailman is busy.”

Without so much as a word or even a look to spare for Ermal, Fabrizio turned around and disappeared into the house, the door falling shut behind him with a soft thud that sounded loud in the sudden silence.

Ermal couldn’t help but feel cast aside. And why? He didn’t understand. He hadn’t said anything wrong, had he? He had just answered Anita’s question, honestly, kindly, with a compliment. Had he sounded sarcastic in any way? Could Fabrizio have misunderstood somehow? Surely not, he had said it very straightforward, meaning it, and with a smile directed at the man. And yet, before the music came up, everything had seemed alright, then Fabrizio was also smiling at him. He remembered that. Clearly.

So probably it was just some strange coincidence, and he was reading too much into this, making the situation too personal. Fabrizio surely didn’t mean to act like this, be rude like this. He had most likely remembered something, and that combined with the children demanding attention… Yes, that was it. Everything would be okay, the next time Ermal saw Fabrizio.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t on Saturday, as once more the house and the garden were empty. Ermal dutifully delivered the mail, trying to push the feeling of disappointment in his chest aside. There was no reason to be disappointed, he had no claim on Fabrizio whatsoever. He drank his coffee at Mr Borsato, talked about Marco staying over, was even more skilful than last week in evading certain questions, and then had a quiet and calm weekend at home. He filled his time with laundry and vacuuming and grocery shopping, all the boring stuff to make a house a home.

Then it was Tuesday. New week, new chances. New chances of seeing a certain singer in his capacity as single father of two. New chances of talking to him, getting to know him. Ermal was looking forward to it.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening. On Tuesday, he didn’t see Fabrizio, even though he spent quite a lot of time pushing letter after letter through the mail box’s slot. Neither on Wednesday. On Thursday, the children were playing in the garden and greeted him, but of Fabrizio Ermal saw only a retreating back as he disappeared into the house. That was just bad timing, surely.

And his bad timing seemed to continue on Friday. When Ermal entered the street, he could see Fabrizio together with the children, sitting on the edge of the pavement, chatting, laughing, and each having an ice cream. It was a sweet sight, and he had to smile at it, he couldn’t help it. Then, when he turned back after a brief chat with Mrs Cesari, he saw that while the children were still sitting there, but Fabrizio had disappeared. The feeling of disappointment in his chest only grew.

Saturday didn’t bring any inhabitants of the house at all, though at least then he had his coffee with Mr Borsato to occupy his thoughts a bit. A thought had taken root that maybe this wasn’t all bad timing, maybe Fabrizio was doing this on purpose. Maybe Ermal had really offended him, in some way, it was the only thing Ermal could think of that might explain his behaviour. But what? What had he done wrong?

On that Tuesday, he finally had his chance to ask. As he was stuffing the dozens of letters into that mailbox, Fabrizio stepped out of the house.

“Hello Fabrizio,” Ermal greeted him, already forming some question to give him his answers in his mind. When Fabrizio heard him, though, he froze for a second, and then looked up with a look filled with such sheer _hatred_ that any words Ermal wanted to say refused to come out.

How had he deserved such a look? Surely, he didn’t?

Ermal dropped the final letter and turned, pretty much fled from the path, trying to compose himself, trying to pretend he wasn’t _hurt_ by this. So it had been him, he had done something wrong, something to piss off Fabrizio so profoundly… But what?

This question kept haunting him as the weeks passed, weeks filled with dark looks, one syllable answers if he really, really had to, and weeks filled with a Fabrizio that seemed to do his best to avoid Ermal as much as he could.

Whatever bothered Fabrizio, at least the children seemed not to care about it. They still smiled and waved at him when they saw him. Anita still came up to him sometimes to ask for the mail, and Libero once asked his help when he had accidentally kicked his football over a fence but didn’t know the people living there.

Some mornings, Ermal resolved that he would ask Fabrizio what he had done wrong, so he could fix it and go back to how it was before. It seemed so easy, in the morning, but when confronted with Fabrizio’s angry glare, his resolve faltered, and he never asked anything. Still, though, he managed to be polite. Whatever it was that he had done wrong, he was determined not to make it worse. So he greeted Fabrizio when he saw him. Tried to make small talk about the weather, the children, the price of groceries. Not music though, he had learned his lesson, as far as he could tell, that was where the root of all this lay.

Each time he tried, the conversation died a painful premature death, because Fabrizio just didn’t respond. Verbally, that is, as Ermal clearly noticed the glares getting fiercer, Fabrizio’s entire look getting even more menacing, or he would just turn his back and act like Ermal wasn’t even there. So it wasn’t easy to stay polite. Ermal wasn’t one to give respect where none was due. But he made an effort here, something in him had to.

As time went on, it was harder and harder. At first he might be able to tell himself Fabrizio was just in a bad mood, but no one was in such a bad mood for weeks. Also, no one was in such a bad mood coincidentally around only one person. Because Ermal could see Fabrizio interacting with his children, where he was sweet and caring as always. He heard from Mr Cardello that Fabrizio had dropped by with a gift for the new-born baby. He saw Fabrizio help out his elderly neighbour in the garden… It seemed Fabrizio was a good man, genuinely nice to others, caring for those around him. Those around him, except Ermal.

And he might have hoped time would soften this sudden… hate, these feelings of intense dislike that Fabrizio apparently held for him, but if anything, it seemed to get worse with time. Yet, Ermal had to do his job, and deliver the mail, so he did, trying to ignore the trepidation in his chest as he approached this house, trying not to show how more and more crushed he felt as the harsh reactions went on, how each and every look and angry word muttered in his direction made it worse. Instead, he lingered on the other streets of his round, focused on the people there, trying to help them in any way he could. At least they would appreciate it, thank him, greet him with a smile. He also tried to keep his thoughts during the rest of the day occupied. He called Marco, met Andrea for dinner or drinks, visited Rinald more than he usually would. He took his book to a cafe, anything to not sit alone at home, with thoughts occupied by this man and his sudden apparent hatred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry...? Also updates might be bit slower because I'm struggling with the plot and I'm also struggling finding time to write soo yes. Sorry. Still, please leave a comment, I really would love to hear your thoughts!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally find out what is going on with Fabrizio, maybe this can explain his behaviour towards Ermal a little? And there are also two sweet children with good intentions (but questionable methods).

Still, Ermal had to deliver the mail, also to number 125, even though he would rather just skip the house instead. One thing he noticed was that the amount of letters seemed less than what he had started with. But surely, the amount of mail fluctuated with what was happening, music-wise. If there was a tour going on, there would probably be a lot more fan mail, people thanking the singer for the amazing night they’d had, talking about how they had loved it. Or when there was a new album, Ermal could imagine that then the letters would become more in number again. Fabrizio was just having a break in between things. Good for him.

What was good for Ermal, was that he didn’t see that much of Fabrizio when he stopped by. Well, good, in a way, but a bit bad in another, because it did save him the angry looks and all that, but still, he couldn’t deny that even with that expression on his face, Fabrizio was _handsome_. And Ermal didn’t mind looking at handsome people. As the days went on, he occasionally caught a glimpse of the man, however, but the dark and angry expression on Fabrizio’s face was replaced by something that looked more like tiredness, weariness, and he didn’t look that great at all. Ermal wished he could ask what was going on, maybe he could help, but he didn’t dare to try. His help would not be accepted anyway, so what was the point?

Saturday brought at least Mr Borsato and some good coffee. If the man hat noticed that Ermal’s visits were rather longer than usual, and that he was avoiding talking about one certain person (though not objecting to his music being played), he didn’t comment on it. Just took it in stride, and poured more coffee for them both.

This Saturday, though, after conversation had meandered from topic to topic, Mr Borsato had just refilled their cups, when he said, “It seems our friend is in rather troubled waters.”

Ermal looked at him, not even attempting to pretend he didn’t understand who Mr Borsato was referring to, there was no need to insult him like that. But he in fact did not understand what the troubled waters were that he was referring to.

“What do you mean? What’s going on?”

“Well, of course there was the whole thing with the album leaking, but that’s completely forgotten now with all the plagiarism accusations.”

“Album leaking? Plagiarism accusations? You are talking about Fabrizio Moro, right?”

Mr Borsato looked at him with an undefinable look in his eyes.

“Ermal, have you been living under a rock the past weeks? Didn’t you know?”

Ermal just shook his head. Apparently, once more, he had managed to miss all the relevant news and had to rely on Mr Borsato for answers. Nothing new there.

Mr Borsato didn’t explain immediately. First, he took a sip of his coffee, and then pulled a face. He pulled the sugar bowl toward him and dropped in another cube, and another. Ermal looked on with thinly veiled astonishment and disgust. He’d never gotten used to how Mr Borsato took his coffee, adding sugar until it almost wouldn’t dissolve anymore. Ermal drank his coffee black, like it was meant to be, and definitely didn’t add milk or sugar cubes or sugar mountains. Finally, Mr Borsato started speaking.

“So, some time ago, I don’t remember exactly when, but it’s been weeks surely, there was this journalist who announced that he had gotten his hands on the new album of Fabrizio Moro, and who proceeded to share it. Of course, that was bad enough, and in the confusion that followed, Moro and his management decided to put out the album earlier, weeks earlier than originally scheduled.”

“Really?” Ermal interjected, disappointed in himself, because apparently he had not just missed all this news, he had also missed new music. Some fan he was.

“Yes, but of course they weren’t ready yet. The whole promotion wasn’t planned yet and it turned out a bit of a disaster. And then, they weren’t really helped by those plagiarism accusations that started popping up when the album leaked, but only got stronger when it was actually put out.”

“Plagiarism accusations? But by who? How?”

“It’s all very unclear, that part at least. Whoever’s doing the accusing is hiding behind some lawyers they’ve hired. And they’ve hired some very cunning lawyers, because to me it seems it’s blown all out of proportion. So much media attention, yet no one has let Fabrizio Moro tell his own story. Everyone seems to have forgotten what ‘accused’ means, and acts like he shamelessly copied someone else’s songs.”

Ermal tried to wrap around all this, it didn’t line up with the image of Fabrizio he had in his mind. And he would be the first to admit he might be a little biased, but it just didn’t fit. All those interviews he’d seen (and there were many, yes, he was a little ashamed of that) had shared the point that Fabrizio wrote his own songs, so why would that have changed suddenly?

“But, he wouldn’t, right?”

Mr Borsato sighed, and took another biscuit from the tin, then offering one to Ermal too, who declined.

“It’s hard to say, but I don’t think so. He doesn’t need to, he never has. I’m just a bit worried that all these accusations and the way it’s being handled by the media will be too much for him to overcome…”

Ermal didn’t reply to that, didn’t know what to say, and made his way home after saying his goodbyes. For the first time in many weeks, Ermal spent his weekend googling a familiar name. The results were numerous, and after clicking through them and reading them, Ermal had a clear but very one-sided and rather depressing idea of the whole situation. What he found was pretty much the same story outlined by Mr Borsato, only, as he’d said, where he talked about the accusations as exactly that, accusations, all the journalists seemed to be convinced that it was a decided case, and wrote accordingly.

One sentence in particular caught his eye.

_Moro’s management has not yet responded to the accusations, saving their arguments for court, but they did request everyone to stop calling about this, and to stop sending hate mail directed at the singer._

Hate mail. Ermal focused on that with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Was that what Fabrizio had been receiving? Was that what Ermal had been _delivering_? Now it was hardly a wonder why he had been met with glares and rude replies, if he got a reply at all to his meaningless comments on the weather or questions about how Fabrizio was doing. Fabrizio was not doing great and had bigger concerns than whether or not today’s temperature was higher than last week’s.

Accidentally, Ermal also read some reactions that people had left on the articles. While some were defending the singer, or at least asking for rational investigations, most were not so generous. Ermal closed his eyes and sighed deeply to find some semblance of calmness after reading another comment, and then shut down his laptop. He’d seen enough. And it wasn’t even directed at him. If this was what Fabrizio had been dealing with… Leaked songs, the album out unplanned, very serious plagiarism accusations, the whole Italian media making a villain out of him, and at least three quarters of the Italian people ready to do the same. That was a lot.

Maybe, all that could excuse a little of Fabrizio’s behaviour? Not all of it, definitely not all of it, but a little at least. If this would be happening to Ermal, he knew he would be having a hard time to continue living his life normally. And taking it out on the mailman seemed a slightly reasonable act if he’d been receiving hate mail. It wasn’t Ermal’s fault, don’t shoot the messenger and all that, but Ermal understood he was a more concrete entity to direct anger at than the whole of Italy. He wasn’t happy with the situation, just doing his job, but he could understand. So he would do his best to find a bit more patience, and a bit more strength to keep up his politeness, keep meeting Fabrizio with good humour, on his side at least, and offer him his help like he would anyone. He wanted to make this easier, if he could, not harder.

And he got his chance to help just a few days later. He was shoving letters in a certain too familiar mailbox, when he heard Fabrizio talking on his phone in the garden. It wasn’t that he was eavesdropping, it was just rather easy to listen in. Fabrizio sounded rather upset and, well, loud.

“But I have the children, I told you I can’t have a meeting today. – No, I cannot find a babysitter. I _know_ it’s just an hour or two – do you really think there’s someone that can drop all they’re doing right this second to look after my children? – _No_ , Carlo, no, it does _not_ work like that. I cann –”

Fabrizio abruptly stopped talking, stared at his phone with a murderous look in his eyes and cursed colourfully. Ermal knew he shouldn’t meddle in this, he would just get more angry looks for his efforts, or probably that angry voice would be directed to _him_ instead. Ermal knew he should just leave him be, but it was so hard to stop the words coming out of his mouth.

“Um, Fabrizio, can I help with anything? Maybe?”

Impossible, apparently.

Fabrizio looked up with a shock and glared at Ermal. Objectively, Ermal knew that he wasn’t angry with him - he’d been short and a bit rude with him, yes, but not angry, that he knew now at least. Never had Fabrizio spoken to _him_ like he had just been speaking on the phone. That Carlo guy might have to fear for his life. Still, this look Fabrizio gave him just now made him doubt that Fabrizio was not angry with him, and it raised the suggestion in his mind to just walk, walk on, and get away from this look. Maybe, in clearer terms, upon seeing that glare, every instinct told Ermal to _flee_.

“Ermal. No, you can’t. Unless you can conjure up a babysitter out of your mailbag, you can’t.”

Ermal didn’t really think about it, like before, he couldn’t stop himself from speaking.

“I could look after Libero and Anita - I mean, they could come with me on the rest of my round, and then… I… It’s just a suggestion, never mind,” Ermal trailed off a bit uncertainly, not sure where he was going, and wishing he had never started that sentence. It wasn’t as if Fabrizio was going to hand over his children to the mailman he had seen a handful of times and let them be carted off to who knows where on top of that.

“No, no, that’s absolutely not necessary.  Fabrizio said, but when Ermal looked up, he could see the hesitation creep into the look in his eyes.

“Okay, I’m just saying it would be no problem at all. But yes, see you around,” he replied, with a bit more confidence, and turned to go. He had offered his help. He had done what he could. And then, what he expected indeed happened. He had barely made it a few steps away, when he heard Fabrizio’s voice behind him.

“Wait, Ermal. Could you – please, yes, I’d like to accept your offer.”

It rather sounded like a lot of pride had to be overcome to say that particular sentence, and Ermal almost had to smile. Who knew this was where these weeks had been leading to?

“Of course,” he said, turning back to the house, back to Fabrizio.

“It will be for two hours only, three at most – no, two. I will make sure to be back in two hours.”

“It is no problem, really.”

“Two hours. And I’ll give Libero a key, so if you’ve finished the mail, you are welcome to stay here until I’m back.”

Ermal wanted to say more, ask more, but he couldn’t find the words, and the moment passed quickly anyway, Fabrizio disappearing into the house, grabbing things as he went, calling Libero and Anita to let them know Ermal would look after them for a bit. Then he left, after kissing first Libero and then Anita goodbye. Ermal couldn’t help but notice how his expression changed for just a moment from cheerfulness to tiredness and gloom before it turned back again. The cheerfulness was so masterfully feigned that Ermal found it hard to believe he had _seen_ that change happening, and not just imagined it.

Ermal took Anita and Libero with him on the remainder of his round, warning them to not stray too far away from him. Anita eagerly helped him with his mail, delighted that she could do so much more than just take her father’s letters. Libero had taken his football with him, and entertained himself with that. Finally, they made it to the end of Ermal’s round, where he found a familiar person in his garden.

“Ermal, my boy, hello! And who did you bring with you?”

“Hello Mr Borsato. These are Anita and Libero. Can you say hello?” Ermal added, addressing the children, who shyly greeted Mr Borsato.

Ermal and Mr Borsato stood there talking for a bit, while Anita and Libero played with the ball. Then, Libero lost control of it and it rolled down the path towards Mr Borsato, who rolled it from side to side with his foot, clearly remembering movements that once were familiar to him. Then he kicked the ball back to Libero, doing so with a flourish, showing off.

“Be careful or you break a hip too. There’s a limit to the amount of groceries I’ll do for you,” Ermal joked, and beckoned the children to go. “I’ll see you Saturday, bye!”

Anita and Libero mumbled a goodbye too, and then they walked back to their house, the mail now all delivered.

“Wow, that mister was old! Even older than granddad! Is he your dad, Ermal?” Anita asked, skipping next to him.

Before Ermal could answer, Libero butted in with a “Anita, dummy, Ermal wouldn’t call his dad by his last name, would he?”

“Oh, no. I guess not. Ermal, where is your dad?”

A second passed, a second that somehow stretched out long enough for Ermal to compose himself quickly, before either child noticed anything was wrong.

“My family lives very far away. My brother lives in Milan, and the others in Bari. And my grandmother lives all the way in Albania. Do you know where that is?”

Anita shook her head, puzzled, but Libero nodded, “Yes, I learnt that in school. It’s on the other side of the sea, to the east. I forgot what the capital is. But they do speak another language there!”

Anita looked up at that. “Really? But Ermal then how does your grandmother talk to people?”

“Well, she speaks Albanian,” Ermal replied, glad that the topic had shifted away from questions about his father.

“But how do you then speak to her?”

Ermal chuckled. “I also speak Albanian.”

“Can you really?” Libero asked him, looking up in awe.

“Yes,” Ermal told him, and continued with a monologue about the weather and the children in Albanian. When he finished, both children looked up at him with open mouths and wonder in their eyes.

“Wow! That was so cool!” Anita told him.

Ermal just smiled, a bit at a loss of how to react to that, and anyway, they had made their way to the Mobrici’s house. Libero fished his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. A bit hesitantly, Ermal walked in, somehow it felt wrong. Wrong to be here, when he still had so many negative associations with this house – not that the house could help it, of course – and especially wrong to be here without Fabrizio around. He went to the kitchen, made some coffee, and leaned against the counter, awkwardly. He had no place here, in this house, he should never make it past the mailbox. Ermal knew he was _helping_ but it felt strange, like trespassing, and he wasn’t comfortable. He would just stay here, in the kitchen, not invading any more of the house. Yes.

Except, no. He had barely taken one sip of his coffee, when Anita came in and dragged him over to her Lego in the living room and asked, well, demanded, he’d play with her. He couldn’t refuse, right?

And that’s how Fabrizio found them, suddenly reappearing in the doorway. Ermal hadn’t even heard the door open and close, but Fabrizio was back, and he should go. So he scrambled up, mumbled a goodbye to Anita, a greeting to Fabrizio, awkwardly added a goodbye to him too, and left. Maybe he should have stayed a little, talk about how it had gone with the children, but all was well, so there was really nothing to say, no reason to stay in Fabrizio’s company and risk another mood swing. No, he would just go home and let this family live in peace. Without him.

It took about a week and a half for anything else to happen. Ermal knew he shouldn’t think like that, there was enough _happening_. Mr Borsato’s daughter came to visit for the weekend, and Ermal had expected that would mean his coffee date would be skipped for a week, but Mr Borsato insisted he would come by and join them. He muttered something almost incomprehensibly about “people who were there for him when he needed them”. Ermal chose to diplomatically ignore that, though he couldn’t deny it made him feel warm and fuzzy in his chest.

He met or at least spoke to friends, family. He met Dino for drinks and got all the latest stories about what his daughter was up to, which was enough to fill a long evening. Marco called him to catch up and mostly complain about his work and how the workload these past few weeks was too much to handle. Rinald visited him in Rome and dragged him along to a surprisingly fun art exhibition.

There were things happening, there was a lot going on. So when had his thoughts changed to only treating things involving a certain family as important? It was ridiculous, he knew that, he had still no claim whatsoever on them, no role to play at all, except to bring unwelcome mail. That had not changed. There was nothing here that could justify in any way his… obsession. An obsession is what it was, and he knew it should stop, change, be put an end to. But that was easier said than done.

But finally, _something_ happened. When he approached the house on number 125, a little girl came skipping towards him, to ask for the mail for her dad. That was not something strange, rather the rule than the exception, lately. Ermal handed Anita the stack of mail. It was quite a lot today, and Anita called for Libero to help her. Ermal watched them go for a while, smiling, and then continued his work round.

What he then didn’t expect, was to find those exact two children in a playground a street away from their house, surrounded by the exact same stack of letters. Only, they were not any longer neatly stacked, at least not in the way they had been. Ermal looked on with quiet astonishment, trying to piece together what was going on. Libero appeared to be busy reading the letters one by one, and sorting them somehow, while Anita was taping the opened envelopes shut again with colourful tape and stickers. Ermal approached the two children.

“No, this one definitely not,” he heard Libero say, and he put the letter he had been reading on a pile, that was significantly bigger than the other one. Anita’s look at the pile Libero had added the letter to might have set them on fire if it was just a little more intense.

“Hi again. What are you doing?” Ermal asked, curious now.

Both children looked up with guilty expressions on their faces, and Ermal knew that they were up to something. They relaxed, however, when they saw it was Ermal.

“We’re reading papa’s mail,” Anita explained, as if that part wasn’t clear already.

“But why? Did he say that was okay?”

“Well, no. But he’s been really sad lately, and he told us we couldn’t help him with his mail anymore, because it might make us sad too, and he didn’t want that.”  

“He’s pretending nothing’s wrong,”  Libero added, “But we can tell.”

“Yes, we can tell,” Anita echoed.

“So, we thought, if we read the letters first, we can give him only the nice ones, and then he doesn’t have to be sad anymore.”

Ermal had to admit, this was rather touching, two children trying to make the world a little nicer for their dad. Probably it was not the best way to solve everything, and he could definitely imagine that Fabrizio would not like it, he would shield Libero and Anita from all these bad things as much as he could.

“But we have a problem. I cannot read well yet, so Libero has to read them all, and there are so many! Can you help us?”

Ermal took a deep breath to start explaining that no, he couldn’t help them. He would definitely lose his job if he did, and besides that, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to pry in Fabrizio’s affairs, not with the looks he’d been giving him since Ermal had figured out who he was, but which had seemed to lessen a bit after Ermal’s side job as Anita’s and Libero’s babysitter. It seemed there was some precarious balance in their relationship and this would surely upset it beyond repair.

“Anita?! Libero?!” came suddenly a familiar voice from behind them, before Ermal could say anything. Again, the two children looked up guiltily, but now a bit scared too.

“Yes, papa?” Libero finally called out, knowing there was no way to make this better, they would just have to get it over with.

“There you are. I was so worried! You know you cannot go out of sight of the house without telling me. Anita, Libero, look at me! You can’t do this, you know that! We’ll go home and then – wait, are those… my letters?”

There was a second where everyone looked sheepishly at all the envelopes on the ground.

“What on earth are you doing with those? Ermal?!”

Fabrizio now turned to Ermal, as if this was all his fault. Maybe, in a way, it was.

“Don’t ask me, I gave them the letters when they said they would give them to you, I never expected this!”

Fabrizio just sent a dark, dark look his way, and Ermal could feel himself crumbling beneath it, even though he knew that technically he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Anita, Libero, gather up the envelopes now, and come home with me. We’ll discuss this. No, don’t say anything, I’ll let you say your piece when we’re home. Now, come. - Oh, and Ermal, please, I’d like to talk to you too, please come to the house when you’re at that point in your round.”

With that, he left, leading the children home with a hand on each back. Ermal was left to stare at them going. He delivered the mail up to Fabrizio’s house a bit slower than usual, wanting to postpone the inevitable. He was sure he was about to get scolded for giving out the letters, and from what he’d seen of an angry Fabrizio, it wasn’t going to be fun. He shuddered as he thought back to the telephone conversation he’d overheard two weeks ago, and imagined that anger directed at him, not filtered through a phone, but in person.

Finally, he couldn’t put it off anymore. He dropped a final letter in the box of number 123, and then walked up to the door at number 125. He took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell. He could do this, it would be fine.

It took a little time, but then Fabrizio opened the door, and beckoned him in. He led the way to the kitchen, where he leaned against the counter. Ermal stood a bit sheepishly in the room. Fabrizio didn’t speak immediately, so he decided he would.

“About the letters, I’m sorry, I didn’t know they would open them… But they did it with good intentions!”

Fabrizio sighed deeply before he replied.

“I know. I know. They told me. They’re now in their rooms, thinking about what they did, but mostly about the leaving the street without asking. And something about privacy, but I know they meant well.”

Fabrizio sounded… a bit defeated, but reasonable, and this wasn’t the angry man Ermal had expected to find.

“What I wanted to talk to you about is this. I know that it’s common to give mail to children to deliver when they ask for it. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Just, right now, it’s not the best time, I’m sure you’ve seen the news. I wanted to ask you if you could please just put everything in the mailbox. For now. Until things get… better.” Somehow, Fabrizio’s voice broke on that last word, and Ermal looked at him a bit worried.

“Okay. Yes, I’ll do that. Um, Fabrizio, I know this is not really my place, but is everything all right? Can I do… anything?”

“Oh, no, everything is fine!”

It took a split second too long for Fabrizio to answer, negating his certainty. Also the smile he attempted at the end of the sentence didn’t really convince Ermal. But this _wasn’t_ his place, so he should leave it. His tentative attempt of offering help, comfort, a listening ear, anything, had been dismissed, and he knew it.

“Well, I’ll remember your request. And if there’s anything else I can do to help, just let me know, okay?”

Fabrizio nodded but didn’t say anything, and Ermal took that as his cue to leave. What else could he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are a little slower, I'm still struggling with the plot. Thanks to sociallyawkwardwriter for helping me with this plagiarism plot point (I know you never meant it to be this serious... ). It would make me so so happy if you would tell me your thoughts after reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two more eventful weeks, it's finally time for that plagiarism court case... How would that go?

Ermal googled. He decided there was no other option left to him. He wanted to know what was going on with Fabrizio, and so he needed to get his information from the media. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to know this one-sided view where people tried their best to find the juiciest rumours and enlarge them in special feature stories. Half of the things Ermal read, he _knew_ to be false, but it was the only way he could try to keep up with things. He didn’t hear anything from Fabrizio, of course he didn’t, and he didn’t – okay, he did _want_ to, but he knew he had no right to. But he wanted to have at least some idea, no matter how distorted it was, maybe it could help him help Fabrizio. Or at least prevent him from being a clueless idiot saying and doing exactly the wrong things.

He found out that there was not much actually happening. The same stories, the same little tidbits of information were repeated over and over, but hardly anything concrete appeared. The most important fact, and it actually seemed to be a fact, was that the trial would be soon. Ermal hoped it would clear up the situation, and prove that Fabrizio had not, in fact, plagiarized. Even though Ermal seemed, together with Mr Borsato, to be part of a very small minority that still believed in the singer’s innocence, he had a feeling he was right.

However, it was going to take some extra time to get those definite answers, as for very unclear reasons, the case was postponed for two weeks, but what was clear, was that it did not help Fabrizio’s popularity, which sank even lower, in so far as that was possible.

It took some time for Ermal to properly encounter any of that family living at number 125 again, but when he did, he found the children in the playground. By themselves. When they saw him, they came running up to him.

“Hi Ermal! Can you help us with something?” Anita asked.

“Does your dad know you’re here? Did you tell him?” Ermal replied, remembering that angry Fabrizio that had found them last time they were here like this.

“Yes, yes, it’s fine,” Libero said, as he dragged Ermal over to the picnic table on the edge of the playground. In astonishment, Ermal looked at what seemed the contents of an entire art store spread out across the table.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re trying to cheer up papa!”

Again? A feeling of vague dread settled in Ermal’s chest, what were the children up to now, and would he be blamed for whatever it was again when Fabrizio found out?

“Yes, we’re now writing a letter to him! To tell him that we love him and how great he is!”

Oh, that was sweet. That was actually also a perfect idea, much better than going through his mail without permission, Ermal had to say.

“Can you help me?” Anita asked Ermal then, looking up at him with big eyes.

“What should I do?” Ermal answered, as he walked over and took a seat on the bench next to her.

“See, I’ve already made all this!” Anita showed him her work, and Ermal looked and saw. The paper was filled with glitter and drawings and stickers. Still, there was a suspicious white space left.

“It’s very beautiful, Anita, you did great!”

“Thank you,” Anita answered very seriously, “Now, I want to have an actual letter too. Can you write for me, please?”

Ermal nodded, and put the card down on the table. He was helpless against this little girl, and she seemed to have figured out her super power.

“Tell me what you want me to write, Anita,” he said, as he took the glittery gel pen he was handed. Anita thought for a little bit, looking very serious, and then started dictating.

“You should write: ‘I love you so much, you are the best papa we can wish for, and your music is so nice, I love it when you sing me to sleep. I only don’t like it when I have to sleep really early and everyone else can stay up – that’s unfair!”

“I’m not sure all that will fit,” Ermal said, very diplomatically so, if you asked him. “Why don’t we only put the first bit and then something else you love about your dad? I’m sure he’ll like that. And then you can ask him later when he gets it if you can stay up a bit longer, hm?”

Anita was silent for a while, but then smiled and nodded.

“Yes! Okay, then also write that I love it when he plays tea parties with me and my dolls, because it’s always so much fun!”

Ermal dutifully wrote that, and then handed Anita the pen and card to let her write her own name. She did so, based on the example he gave her, and her tongue peeked through her teeth in concentration. In the end the ‘N’ was mirrored, but that didn’t matter.

Meanwhile, Libero had also finished his letter, which consisted of more text and less glitter than Anita’s, and had some very impressive drawings of soccer fields and dinosaurs. He rummaged through the things on the table, and found two plain white envelopes. Both children put their letters in the envelope, and then Libero slid them over to Ermal.

“Can you please write the address? I don’t want papa to recognize my handwriting, it should be a surprise!”

Ermal did, he knew the address by heart anyway.

“Ermal, when will they be delivered?”

“In two days, if you post them today, before the post box is emptied. You only need a stamp for each!” He didn’t think this was bad news in any way, but the children’s faces fell as he said it.

“What’s wrong?”

Libero sighed deeply.

“In two days it’s Saturday. We’re not here on Saturday and then we won’t know how papa reacted…”

“And I don’t think we have stamps. Do we have stamps, Libero?”

The boy shook his head, looking even sadder. Anita wasn’t immediately deterred by that, saying happily, “Oh, but we can draw them!”

“No, silly, we can’t. You have to pay for them, otherwise the letters won’t be delivered at all.”

“Oh.” She sat down, now also looking down sadly on the colourful table with the two white envelopes in front of her. Ermal could see her bottom lip start to quiver, and that was something he did not want to see.

“Listen, listen! I am a mailman, right? So, just this once, I can get your letters delivered extra fast, especially for you!”

“Can you?” Libero looked up with a sparkle in his eye. It suddenly died down again, and he mumbled, “But we still don’t have stamps.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll make sure the letters are delivered, tomorrow, including a stamp. Okay?”

Two little faces with the biggest smiles looked up at him, and Ermal knew that this was a good decision. Suddenly, both Libero and Anita had jumped up to hug him.

“Thank you so much! Papa will be so happy, I just know it!”

Ermal stayed there for a few minutes longer, basking in the warm and peaceful atmosphere that the children radiated, he felt so welcome and appreciated. It was so different from the way their father had behaved recently that it was a nice change, and not something he wished to give up immediately.

Eventually though, he had to. He had his round to finish, and he had some letters to make ready for delivery. He had stamps at home, and he could call in a favour of a colleague to get the postmark before his round tomorrow, that would all work out. The envelopes would resemble any ordinary envelops, and Fabrizio wouldn’t suspect a thing until he opened them.

The next day, Ermal delivered the letters, inconspicuous in a bunch of some other letters as well, and shared a wink with Libero over the garden fence. He would have given a lot to witness Fabrizio open those two particular envelopes, but of course he couldn’t. Maybe Libero and Anita would tell him about it, next week.

(If Ermal could have witnessed it, this is what he would have seen. Fabrizio had made sure the children were playing somewhere, peacefully, he didn’t want to be asked about opening the letters together. He couldn’t, not when the things he got were so _awful_ , not things his children should see. With a by now familiar feeling of slight dread in the pit of his stomach, he gathered up the day’s letters and moved to the studio to open them. At least it was almost weekend, Sundays had become the highlight of his week. No stressful meetings, and also, no post on Sundays.

Today was only Friday, though, and he should just get it over with. He inspected the five envelopes that were now lying on his desk. First one, that was easy, that was just an electricity bill. Funny how he had started to be happy about bills. At least those weren’t the worst things he received. Out of the four remaining envelopes, there were two plain white ones. If the past weeks had told him anything, it was that these most often held the letters he wished he’d never opened. He would save those for last. The other two came in decorated envelopes, and as he opened them, he had to smile. There were some people left who still believed in him. That one of them came from his cousin couldn’t spoil it. He’d already lost a number of people he thought he was close to, because of this whole mess. He was taking no one for granted anymore.

Then there were the two envelopes left. With a sigh, he opened the first one. He opened it, tried to shake out the letter, but what came out was a lot of glitter. The letter itself was sticking a bit to the envelope, but he finally got it out. More glitter, drawings, and a short letter in an unfamiliar handwriting, but with a familiar name at the bottom. Fabrizio smiled, and reached for the second envelope, now not dreading it, not at all, he had a rather good hunch of what the envelope might contain. And indeed, when he opened it, he found less glitter, more text, but a name just as familiar as the first one.

He read them both, once, twice, and couldn’t suppress some tears. His children, they really were the best people in his life. He’d do anything for them, and he just wished the whole situation would solve itself and quickly. He’d take the children on a holiday, just the three of them, somewhere where he would not be recognized and they could just be a normal family, just for a little bit. Now though, it was enough to just find them, hug them, and hold them close. Maybe, in all of this, the most important lesson was that his family always came first and with them he could overcome anything.)

That Saturday, Ermal had been lost in thought during much of his round, and also during his visit at Mr Borsato his quietness did not go unnoticed.

“What’s on your mind, Ermal?”

“You also think that Fabrizio is innocent, right, that those accusations are based on nothing?” Ermal blurted out, and when Mr Borsato nodded, he continued, though a bit more thoughtful now. “Well, don’t you think it would maybe be nice to tell him that? So that he knows that he’s not all alone? That people still believe in him?”

Mr Borsato looked at him with a blank look in his eye. “What are you saying? That I should knock on his door with some home-made food and tell him all is not lost?”

“No. No! I mean, why not write him a letter?”

Mr Borsato didn’t reply to that, but the look on his face said enough for a thousand words.

“You know, with all the hate mail he’s been getting –”

“Are you still feeling guilty about that? It’s not your fault, you can’t help what people write you’re just doing your job.”

Ermal sighed. He knew that. That was not really it, but he didn’t want to say what it really was, he had not even allowed himself to think what it really was.

“I just think it’s a good idea, just to give him some positive news.” Ermal got up and started looking around for paper and a pen. The pen was easily found, as one lay on a stack of crossword puzzle books, but the paper was another matter. He could hardly look into drawers and cupboards, this wasn’t his home, but this suddenly was very important to him. And that was something that had apparently also occurred to Mr Borsato, as he muttered a bit under his breath, unintelligible, which was probably a good thing, and then said louder, “Bottom drawer on the left, there, right in front of you. There’s some paper.”

Ermal quickly retrieved it, and handed it to Mr Borsato.

“Please write something nice, about how you always liked his music and you never believed the rumours and maybe also something about the latest album?”

Mr Borsato sent another indecipherable look his way, but started scribbling on the paper.

“Aren’t you going to write a letter too?” he asked, as he wrote the date in the top right corner.

“No!” Ermal said, and continued a bit sheepishly, “No, it would be… strange, you know, to deliver my own letter.”

Those eyes lifted from the paper to settle uncomfortably on him again.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I would write on behalf of you too? Tell Fabrizio that his music is appreciated by more than just me, and maybe that more than just his music is appreciated?” There was a cheeky grin on Mr Borsato’s face that Ermal didn’t really like. How could he have thought this would be a good idea?

“No! You can’t do that! Don’t mention my name at all! Nowhere!”

Mr Borsato only chuckled.

“Okay, okay. I won’t, then. But now leave an old man to write this letter in peace, and I promise I’ll post it. Or do you want to check on that?”

“No, that’s alright. I guess,” Ermal mumbled, gathering his things, feeling a bit abruptly thrown out, even though it was, in a way, his own fault. But he’d gotten what he wanted, right? Still, when he made his way home he felt like he had failed to notice something important.

Then finally, after days and days, it was time for the court case. No more postponements, no more excuses to drag this out. Ermal had taken the day off. He knew he really had no reason to, this did not affect him, not _truly_ , but he didn’t want to make his round and wonder about what was happening, wonder about how the media would spin it. With every gossip magazine he would deliver, he would read some false headline throwing mud at Fabrizio, and he didn’t want that. He still didn’t know why he felt so strongly about this, he just knew that he did. This whole situation was so unfair, and Fabrizio didn’t deserve it. With the worst criminals, the media did their best to protect their privacy and adhere to the principle of innocent unless proven otherwise. But now? With something that was, relatively seen, so much less important than the cruel things mankind was capable of, the media had not taken such care. Not at all, rather the opposite, before anything was proven or explained, they’d jumped to the conclusion that Fabrizio was a fake, guilty of all charges…

So Ermal had taken the day off, in an attempt to take his mind off the whole case. He’d travelled to the beach, it would do him good to see the sea, and he’d deserved a holiday anyway. In the evening he was going to meet Mr Borsato for dinner. It wasn’t Saturday, but this day was a special occasion. Besides, Mr Borsato would no doubt have magically gathered all the relevant information Ermal wanted, so why not just continue this tradition of catching up on news by having Mr Borsato tell him all?

For now though, he had a whole day in front of him, a day he could spend on the beach. He really should make the journey over more often, it wasn’t that far, and with the first deep breath of salty sea air, he realized how much he had _missed_ it. He had his book with him, and sometimes sat down to read a little, but mostly he just walked, letting his thoughts fly on the breeze, drift along with the waves, shifting like the sand beneath his bare feet.

Walking here like this, he thought back on all the memories that took place on the beach or near the sea. The first time he'd ever seen it, all those years ago, still in Albania. He remembered how he had stood there, not even on the beach yet, in awe by that blue endlessness sparkling in the sun. From that moment on he had loved it. Even on the way to Italy, when everything was so unsure, terrifying even, the sea had managed to calm him down. In Bari, whenever he had felt the need to be alone, whenever he just needed some time for himself, away from prying eyes and his well-meaning but nosy family, he would go to either the beach or the port, anywhere where he could stare out over the water. As the years passed, he didn't find himself at the seaside as often as he would like, he didn't have the time or something else seemed more important. But now that he was here, he realized that in total, people spent way too little time at the beach. He should change that. Maybe take some holiday and make a trip around Europe to start with. While he had a soft spot for the Mediterranean Sea, any large expanse of salty water would make him happy. So go, visit different beaches. See different seas. Explore. He could do that. Yes, he should do that.

Ermal was happily surprised with how easily time was passing, how well his plan was working, his plan to spend the day by himself, surrounded by the salty breeze and the rush of the waves, his plan to forget all about Fabrizio just for a few hours.

Or at least, that last part worked exactly up until he remembered that was part of his plan. Because now he remembered that Fabrizio existed and that opened doors he'd firmly shut this morning when he left Rome behind. As he stood there on the sand, the horizon he was staring it slowly got replaced by images of this man that had, in one form of another, haunted his thoughts for too long now. It started out with nothing but question marks and vague fantasies, but over time, with more encounters and more looks those fantasies had become a lot more focused. Ermal grimaced, and tried to keep his thoughts from spinning out of control. He wasn't necessarily proud of this, but how could he help it?

The question marks had stayed, though of course they had changed character quite a lot... From "who is this man?" to "why does he hate me?" to "why can't I get him out of my head?". Now, to be fair, that last question had been haunting him pretty much from the start and kept doing so. Any sensible person would have been more cautious about this all, would have been more cautious with their heart. Ermal wished it was otherwise, but here, surrounded by the elements, calm as they were today, he had to see the truth, and the truth was that he still wanted this man like he had in those first few weeks... Even despite Fabrizio's recent behaviour, Ermal’s feelings hadn't changed. There was still the uncertainty in everything, but not in him. Ermal didn't know what it said about him, that he hadn't been put off by the way he had been treated lately, because it should have. It was a lesson learnt long ago that he should not settle for anyone who did not _love_ him, and in this situation there was none, would be none.

All his life he had had a strong sense of self-preservation, but apparently that had moved on when Ms Pescari had sold the house she'd been living in for years. Because why was he still trying to get into the good graces if this man that had made clear he didn't like him, why was he still going out of his way to help him, still trying to make a good impression? Why did he make himself such an easy target, with such a vulnerable heart? Fabrizio would never even know how he made Ermal feel – all the ways he made Ermal feel, the good and the bad – but Ermal would carry the scars with him for the rest of his life.

All these were very sensible questions, and Ermal didn't have an answer to a single one of them. Something in him just had been... attracted, drawn in like a moth to a flame, to this man. Even if he wanted to stay away, take his distance, get over all this in peace, he probably would not manage. Fabrizio would appear in the magazines he was delivering, or on the TV exactly when Ermal would turn it on. Marco would ask about going to a concert or, worst of all, he would encounter the person himself when he was working. Share a look, no matter how dark, mutter a greeting, be roped into helping the children with one thing or another...

And something in him still wanted more than this, this role on the side-lines of Fabrizio's life, he wanted to be liked, appreciated, but also still more than that. It was foolish, he knew that. At this point some mutual respect was the next level of a relationship in reach, and progressing beyond that would never happen. Maybe even, _should_ never happen, because Fabrizio's behaviour just had not been okay, not been acceptable in any way. And yet, Ermal had taken it, had accepted it, and he wondered why.

Why could this man in particular get away with this, when Ermal would have called out anyone else on this behaviour? When he would have cut them out of his life to protect himself? Was it the sudden change after the promising beginning? Why would that matter, if the outcome was the same?

Ermal stared at the waves, but they gave him no answers either.

Rationally, objectively, logically, he knew he should leave this, no matter what his feelings might be, he should put himself first and there was no reason to have gone through all this hurt. He should have distanced himself earlier, but it was not too late yet. Who knew what Fabrizio’s behaviour might hold in the future, now it was just passive anger simmering, but it could turn even worse, he knew that. Ermal should be careful, protect himself _and_ his heart, and in that he didn't need people who changed their faces like the wind. A soft smile appeared on his lips as a gentle gust of wind a bit stronger than the others played through his hair right at that thought.

Rationally, objectively, logically, he knew all that. But he somehow couldn't be rational or objective or logical. Because who knew what the future might hold, couldn't Fabrizio do another spin and grow to like him? Despite everything, there was still that tiny possibility of something _special_ , wasn’t there? Tiny, so tiny, but there nonetheless. Maybe it was time that one time in his life he was going to take a risk, instead of playing it safe. He might end up regretting it, it might be the worst decision he would ever make, but at least then he’d know he had tried. He wouldn’t add Fabrizio to his long list of things he regretted not fighting for a bit harder.

The sun had sunken down towards the horizon quite a bit, and Ermal would love to stay and watch it disappear completely, but he couldn’t, at least, not today. He was supposed to meet Mr Borsato in a short while and he could finally find out what the day had brought for other people. However, he first wanted to have dinner. First just continue this nice, calm day, and then worry about the larger things at play. Finally, after dessert, two little plates empty, he looked up at Mr Borsato.

“Tell me.”

Fabrizio had been acquitted.

He had never committed plagiarism of any sort, and it was ruled that the opposition should apologize and pay a sum to cover the damages they’d caused.

Ermal was glad about this. To him, it wasn’t surprising. Of course, Fabrizio had never plagiarized, but he was glad that in court this had become clear too. But what good were some words from a judge and some money against all the stress this had no doubt caused Fabrizio and his family? The low album sales, the articles in the media, the hate mail… This had had such a big impact on so many lives, and the money and insincere apology would not be enough to negate all that and magically make it good again. After all, a reputation was easy to destroy, but so hard to build up again. Still, it was a start. Maybe this hell Fabrizio had been going through would end now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this marks the end of any buffer I had, so I can't promise when the next update arrives. At least it's a good ending, for now :) I'd be very very happy if you'd left your thoughts in a comment! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Ermal and Fabrizio have a proper talk. That's it, that's the whole chapter (okay and Anita is cute for a little).

And it did seem to be better for Fabrizio. Clearly, his management had hired some PR company capable of turning things around, and slowly public opinion seemed to change. Just a little though, and only slowly.

Ermal didn’t get the chance to find out how Fabrizio himself was doing, if this had changed anything in his behaviour towards Ermal, if it had made any difference at all. It wasn’t that he was evading Fabrizio, it wasn’t that Fabrizio was away from home again, disappeared to somewhere. No, Ermal just didn’t have a chance to walk down that oh so familiar street.

A colleague was ill, so for three weeks, Ermal was asked to cover their round, as his was easier to divide in two smaller rounds, and easier to navigate for the temporary mailmen that would cover those. He accepted the change readily, he liked this chance of taking this distance, taking some time away from the house, the family, everything that had happened. It would give him the opportunity to compose himself, find out what really was going on with his… feelings, thoughts, wishes, figure out what he really wanted when the object of those feelings, thoughts and wishes was not every day right in front of him. And he hoped that maybe Fabrizio would have some time to realize it really wasn’t necessary to shoot daggers from his eyes at a certain mailman at every chance he got. Though if Ermal was honest, that had seemed to lessen already after the babysitting, or any time he had happened across Anita and Libero doing something to cheer up their father.

The three weeks passed quickly, the first filled with getting to know the round, the streets, the particularities about the mail to deliver. Figuring out which addresses got a lot of mail (though never as much as Fabrizio, Ermal couldn’t help but notice), which got very little. Where did the dangerous-looking dogs live, where the elderly ladies who were always in for a friendly conversation? The second and third week felt more like a routine, though Ermal had come to the conclusion that he much preferred his own round. Not only because of the interesting turn his work had taken since Fabrizio moved to his street, of course not, he had liked it before that, sometimes even liked it better then. His own round had a nice mix of streets and parks, flats and family houses, and he knew the people…

In the three weeks, he still visited Mr Borsato, but they both noticed it wasn’t the same. The time was different, with the extra traveling between neighbourhoods, and Ermal couldn’t stay as long as he would have liked.

So yes, all in all, he was glad when he had his own round back, walking the familiar streets, without thinking of where to go and without looking for house numbers to double check if he had found the right address.

Someone else who was happy he was back, was a certain little girl.

“Ermal! I thought you would never ever ever come back again!”

Erma laughed, and tried not to lose his balance as Anita hugged his legs.

“Of course I would be back! Your mail still has to be delivered, right?”

At that, Anita looked up, pouting.

“There was someone else who brought the letters, but she wasn’t as nice as you, not at all! Didn’t say anything to us, didn’t wave, and only listened to music or was making phone calls. I’ve missed you!”

What could you say to that?

“I’ve missed you too, Anita!” Nothing else but that, of course.

“Now come, you have missed so much! I’ve got something to show you!”

Before he could do anything, say anything, Anita had dragged him of the street, down the path, through the front door, only to release him in the living room.

Surely he was not supposed to be here? But what could he do when such a powerful five-year-old wanted him to be there?

“Look, Ermal, at school we had to make a drawing of our favourite job, and I drew you, don’t you think it’s pretty?”

Ermal took the paper and stared at it, taking it in. Yes, that clearly was him, in his uniform, with his curls, and with a lot of envelopes.

“It’s beautiful, Anita, I love it, I really do!”

And he did, because he had never, _never_ , expected anything like this to happen. He only delivered the mail, and yet this little girl had decided his job was her favourite, and had _drawn_ him. He ignored the warning prickling in his eyes, and crouched down.

“Can I hug you?”

Anita nodded happily, and let herself fall into his arms.

“Do you want to keep it?”

“Can I?”

“Of course, you’re on it, so it should be yours!”

“Thank you, Anita, really, I’ll put it in my living room!”

“Great! I’m happy you like it! Now I have to go!” Anita wriggled herself free and ran out of the room, up the stairs by the sound of it, without another look back. Ermal got up again, standing in the room a bit awkwardly, the drawing in his hands. Now what? He should get out, leave, he shouldn’t be here in the first place, not on his own. That would look exceptionally bad, he could see the headlines, _Mailman caught red-handed in house he was supposed to deliver mail at_. He so did not need that, and neither did Fabrizio.

Speaking of Fabrizio…

“Ermal?”

With a shock Ermal looked up. Damn.

“What are you doing here?” Fabrizio continued, leaning against the doorway, the doorway that was Ermal’s only way out of here. Blocked.

“I – It is not what it looks like, I can explain!” The words hadn’t even left his mouth yet, and Ermal already regretted them. That were definitely not the best words to use when he was trying to argue for his innocence. “I mean, Anita asked me to come inside, she wanted to give me this,” he continued, waving the paper in the air like a white flag.

At that, Fabrizio started to smile, “Yes, she’s been saving that for a week or two, it’s good that you’re back, she was almost heartbroken every day you didn’t come by. How have you been?”

Ermal took a second to answer, this was no doubt the friendliest conversation (conversation? It would be if he would answer) he had had with Fabrizio in months. But he didn’t complain. Still, it was a bit strange, after all that had happened, stand here casually talking like this.

“I’ve been good, just that a colleague was ill so I had to take over their round. That’s why I haven’t been here. And you? How have you been? With… everything?” Ermal wasn’t sure if he should ask, but he couldn’t _not_ ask, and if he was honest with himself, he was curious too.

“It’s gotten a bit better,” Fabrizio smiled weakly, and Ermal wasn’t too convinced.

“It has?”

“Slowly. It will be fine. It is not as difficult now as it was, and I’m sure things will be better soon,” Fabrizio admitted.

“I know you don’t like me, but I could have _helped_. I could have made things easier for you,” Ermal said, his voice low, hardly above a whisper.

Fabrizio didn’t look up, but his voice came finally, matching Ermal’s in volume.

“You did help, you know. And it’s not that I don’t like you.”

Ermal stilled, sure he hadn’t heard him correctly. Was Fabrizio saying he _liked_ him? The double negation would mean that, right? But in none of their interactions except maybe the first few, Ermal had ever felt like Fabrizio liked him. Tolerated, maybe, sometimes, despised, usually, with dark looks and short answers. That was not _liking_.

“You- What?”

“Listen, I know I have not been… friendly to you. Hell, I’ve hardly been polite. But it’s not because I don’t like you, I… do?”

It came out as a question, but it left Ermal rather puzzled, because he wouldn’t know the answer, would he?

“You do?” he prompted.

“I was just trying to protect myself, in some misguided way. I mean, at first it was just embarrassing, meeting you, but then you finally figured out who I was, and I assumed that you would just be interested in the fame part. So you could brag to your friends about knowing me… And then, you know, everything happened, and surely you were just there to get the latest rumours, check what was true and what wasn’t.”

“I never…”  Ermal started, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to address first. It hadn’t been about Fabrizio’s fame, he had never wanted to brag at all, on the contrary, at first he hadn’t even known about it and when he did, he hadn’t said a word, and most of all, he didn’t want to check any of the awful rumours that had circulated about Fabrizio.

“I know that. I realized it when everything broke loose, the accusations, all that. I realized that your behaviour never changed. Not like the others, who would call themselves my friends and yet dropped me like a stone at the first sight of trouble. You just kept asking if you could help… I was suspicious, at first, because what if it was just a ploy, some ingenious way to get more information and share it with the world?”

Ermal could hardly believe this. He had known Fabrizio hadn’t liked him (or, he did? Apparently?) but he had never thought he had thought so lowly of him. He really didn’t deserve that. He didn’t. He could feel the anger rising in his chest, and he opened his mouth to defend himself, but before he could say anything, Fabrizio continued.

“I know that it wasn’t, that you just genuinely wanted to help me… But when I realized _that_ I was too embarrassed about my behaviour to change anything. It seemed easier, to just go on as I had. And I’m sorry about that, you never deserved that. Ermal, I am sorry,” he repeated.

Ermal just stood there and looked at him. It sounded so sincere, so earnest, but it had been an awful way to behave. It had made him feel so insecure at times, wondering what he had done wrong… It was nice to know that there wasn’t anything, but where to go from here?

Again, it was Fabrizio who broke the silence, bravely soldiering on through what he wanted to tell Ermal.

“It’s just… I know I will sound like even more of an asshole now, and I truly am sorry. But the first few times we met, I got the feeling you didn’t know who I was, and I liked that, that anonymity, that you just were nice to me because of me, not because of some image of me you might have. But then you did, know who I was, I mean, and I was afraid how you would react. So I decided to just take matters into my own hands. And then, with everything that happened after, I didn’t really have the energy to think about it or change it…”

“But?” Ermal asked, feeling as if the story didn’t quite end there.

“But when you just kept offering help, and kept being friendly, to the children, but also to me, even when I treated you the way I did, even when everything had collapsed around me, I realized that maybe you were not there for bragging rights, because why would you still be there then? There was nothing for you to gain.”

Ermal sighed, his anger had dissipated again, now he felt just tiredness.

“Fabrizio, there was friendship for me to gain,” he said, while thinking, still stupidly thinking _and maybe something else too_.

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that.”

“Well, I’m still here. It’s not too late yet,” Ermal said, finally looking up and attempting a smile. He succeeded a bit shakily, but he meant it. He was still here. If he had stayed through the dark looks and short answers and the being ignored and despised at times, he would be here when Fabrizio was finally talking to him, apologizing, realizing that they could, in fact, be friends.

“It isn’t?”

“Fabrizio, come on, I’m not telling you this to now turn my back laughing and say it’s all a joke. I mean it.”

Finally, a smile broke through on Fabrizio’s face too.

“I’m sorry, I’m not usually this insecure… It’s just, I’m rather short on friends after the past few weeks.”

“Can I tell you something? You know, as your friend?”

Fabrizio only looked up at Ermal questioningly, a soft smile shyly appearing at the word, and nodded.

“If they didn’t stand by you through this, they weren’t really your friends in the first place.”

“Yes. I know that. But still…”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a bit, both of them, as they stood there, Ermal awkwardly in the middle of the room, Fabrizio still in the doorway. Ermal hadn’t expected the conversation to take the turn it had, he hadn’t expected to have such an honest talk - he had just out of stubborn foolishness once more offered Fabrizio his help. And yet, here they were, somehow closer than any moment before. Friends.

“Would you like something to drink?” Fabrizio finally asked, with a sideways glance at Ermal. He just nodded, of course he wanted that, the last thing he wanted now was go and leave this moment, this company.

So now they were sitting there, on the couch in that same room, each with a cup of coffee. Fabrizio was quiet, and Ermal dug through his mind to find a suitable topic for conversation. He wondered if they should go back to meaningless small talk. He wondered if he could take advantage of this honest mood Fabrizio seemed to be in, and continue on this path of _important_ things. It was a gamble, would it be okay or would it ruin everything they had found between them?

“But Fabrizio, you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but I do only know what the media was saying about you. Now that we’ve established that I wasn’t after any details, which I’m not, do you want to talk about it? I can imagine, after what you said today, that you haven’t really been able to talk about how this all made you feel.”

Ermal tried to keep his tone light, trying with all his might not make this sound like a challenge, an ultimatum. It wasn’t. He really wasn’t looking for answers, not this time, he was just worried. To go through something like this while feeling that all your friends abandoned you, that must be awful.

Fabrizio didn’t reply to that, just sipped his coffee, coffee that surely was still too hot to drink, and Ermal tried not to feel hurt by that. They could be friends now, but that did not mean Fabrizio had to tell him this. He knew that, but still it felt like another push aside. And had he now messed up this one chance he had of getting to know this man a bit better? That realization of a minute ago, that they could be friends, was that over already?

He didn’t know what to say, everything would make this more awkward, but so did the silence, growing between them, growing heavy and uncomfortable. It was Fabrizio, who finally broke the silence first. And it wasn’t what Ermal had been expecting. He’d been expecting either a switch to some meaningless topic, the weather for example, or some short comments that it was better he would leave. He got neither.

“It’s been absolutely _awful_ ,” Fabrizio whispered, and even in the whisper, his voice seemed to break. For a second, Ermal regretted bringing it up at all, but then he realized that he had been right, Fabrizio had had no one to talk to, properly talk to, for all this time. It was a wonder he was functioning as well as he was, honestly.

“Tell me,” he softly prompted, hoping still that it wouldn’t be too much, but hoping more that he could _help_. Fabrizio took in a deep breath, staring at his coffee cup before he started speaking.

“All this time I had to pretend, pretend everything was okay, pretend I wasn’t worried by the songs leaking, those accusations, pretend I had everything under control… To the media, to the people around me, to my family… I just couldn’t show any weakness, ever, in all that time… Because I knew it would work against me, that it would make everything even harder. And I… it was so _hard_ , it was so _lonely_.”

He looked up at Ermal, finally, and Ermal could see how much it still hurt him, what a toll it had taken. And Ermal realized that in all this, he was so _glad_ that he hadn’t turned to childish behaviour when Fabrizio had started ignoring him, because now he could understand that everything had just been too much.

“I’m so sorry,” he told Fabrizio, hesitating a split second before putting his hand on Fabrizio’s shoulder. The gesture was accepted, as Fabrizio turned to look at him, with a soft smile.

“What for? You did everything you could to help. Thank you for that, Ermal, really.”

Ermal stared. Had he? He had tried to not make things worse, but help? He had tried to, but so many times it wasn’t accepted, deemed unnecessary.

“What for?” he echoed stupidly.

“For everything. For acting normally. For not believing those stories. For not assuming they were true. For still offering a kind word, your help, time and time again, not matter my reaction. For babysitting that time, you really helped me out then. Everything you did with Libero and Anita anyway, every time they wanted your attention or you had to write their cards… And the mail itself, of course. You did so much.”

“The mail? How can you thank me for delivering… _those_ things?”

“What?”

“When I read you received hate mail, I felt so bad, knowing that I was the one bringing you those messages. How can you – ” Ermal started, but was interrupted before he could finish that sentence.

“No, no, that’s not what I mean at all! I meant the letters you asked people to write, so that I would get some nice mail too! You don’t know how it made my day to see that people still stood behind me!”

Uncomprehendingly, Ermal looked at Fabrizio, wondering what on earth he was talking about. The only letters he had indirectly sent Fabrizio were those Libero and Anita had made. So what was Fabrizio referring to? Surely not something _he_ had done? What if this whole friendship was based on something Ermal hadn’t done at all?

“Letters?”

Fabrizio just patted his knee, as if to say “wait, you’ll see”, and then got up to rummage through some drawers. Ermal watched, still confused, until he was handed some papers. He gazed at them, not sure if Fabrizio actually wanted him to read them, or if he expected Ermal to recognize them. If that was what his intention was, it had failed, because Ermal did not recognize the letters.

What he did recognize, however, was the name at the bottom of the paper.

Borsato.

What? What?!

“I… I did not have anything to do with… these,” Ermal sputtered, holding up the letters, handing them back to Fabrizio. Some thoughts starting forming in his head, but he pushed them down.

Fabrizio looked at him with an amused smile on his face, an amused smile that Ermal did not necessarily like.

“That’s not what the letter says. Here, let me read it out,” Fabrizio said, and looked through the sheets of paper before he found what he had been looking for.

“ _A certain curly-haired mailman we both are acquainted with asked me today if it wouldn’t be nice to send you a letter, so that you would receive letters from people who still believe in your innocence and your talent. I agree with him, so I’ll ask some of my friends the same thing._ – Ermal, thank you. Really. This letter, and the ones he refers to arrived at exactly the right moment for me.”

Ermal didn’t immediately respond, his mind had gone back in time to the exact moment when he had asked Mr Borsato for this letter. The feeling he had left with that day, of missing something, it was finally explained now. Hadn’t he asked Mr Borsato not to put his name in the letter? He hadn’t done that, no. He hadn’t done that, but he might as well have. Oh god, what else had he said?

“Did he… Did he say anything else about me? I had asked him not to,” he finally managed, waiting with a pounding heart for the answer. Surely Mr Borsato hadn’t said anything else? Surely he and Fabrizio wouldn’t been having this whole conversation, if he had? Fabrizio surely did not need the mailman with the inexplicable crush as a friend.

“No, don’t worry, he didn’t,” Fabrizio said, finally settling Ermal’s doubts, “But I’m glad he wrote what he did, because when I read that, I first started to acknowledge to myself how bad I had been treating you.”

“It’s okay, you had a lot on your mind,” Ermal replied, relieved, rehearsing in his mind exactly what he would tell Mr Borsato the next time he saw him.

“It wasn’t okay, but I can’t change it now. I’m sorry. – But Ermal, just now, did you say you felt bad for delivering the mail? Why?”

“Because I knew what I was delivering. You do not deserve to get hate mail, and I was the one giving it to you – It’s no wonder you didn’t like me.”

“Ermal, no, don’t – You were just doing your job, I did not blame you, how could I? You never sent that kind of messages, quite the opposite in fact. You should not feel bad for that, it was not your fault!”

Ermal was quiet at that, he didn’t really know what to say, and settled for an unhelpful, “Neither was it yours.”

In the silence that followed, he finished his coffee, and looked around the room, trying to find another topic of conversation, wondering if he should at all, maybe he should just leave. The two of them had talked a lot, about many important things, and going back to small talk just… didn’t feel right. So in the end, he decided to go home.

“I’m happy we talked,” he told Fabrizio in the doorway, bravely, but honestly.

“Me too. I should have been the one to start this conversation, I’m sorry I didn’t, left it up to you. I should have apologized earlier. I’m sorry,”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s all good now. Really,” Ermal answered, hating to see this man beat himself up after everything he’d been through the past months.

“I’m glad,” Fabrizio replied, with a big, sweet smile on his face, and it took Ermal a minute to understand that he had opened his arms in an invitation for a hug. Ermal managed to react in the last second before doubt had taken over Fabrizio, and returned the hug tightly, with quite a lot of heartfelt emotion.

He had gained a friend today. He and Fabrizio had talked, and had solved those things hanging between them. They had cleared the air, and could move on from here. And who knew where that road would bring them? Everything was possible, wasn’t it? Those were the thoughts running through Ermal’s mind when he came home, as he put Anita’s drawing on the coffee table, vowing to buy a frame for it soon, so he could put it in his living room, as he’d promised. He’d have forever a reminder of the day he became friends with Fabrizio Mobrici.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and you'd make me very happy if you could leave a comment with your thoughts! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal is looking forward to a nice, calm evening. A book, some wine, and he's a happy man. There's just one problem. He doesn't have his keys. What now?

Ermal came back from an uneventful round bringing out mail. He was looking forward to his free evening. His plan was to curl up on the couch with the new book he’d been wanting to read for a while, some nice music in the background, glass of wine… Yes,  he was looking forward to that.

Standing in front of his front door, he reached into his pocket for his key to open it, but it wasn’t there. He tried the other one instead, but there was also no key. Now with slightly rising panic, he tried the first one again. Still no key.

Suddenly, he remembered with vivid clarity where his keys were. On his kitchen table. Where he left them every evening, ready to grab in the morning when leaving. Except, this morning he hadn’t grabbed them. They were still on the table, but the door had fallen shut behind him.

Of course he had a spare key. He had given it to Mr Borsato for safe keeping, for exactly a situation like this one. So Ermal made his way through those familiar streets of the neighbourhood again, towards Mr Borsato’s house. He greeted Libero distractedly, who was playing in the garden when Ermal passed the house. Then he reached Mr Borsato’s home and rang the doorbell. And waited. Time passed slowly, in heartbeats, until realized two things. One, Mr Borsato was not at home. And two, Ermal knew exactly where he was, namely in Civitavecchia, visiting a friend, and he wouldn’t be back until the day after tomorrow.

Great, now what? Ermal made his way back home again, now completely forgetting to greet Libero at all, his head occupied by how he was going to enter his house again. Once home, he stared at the door, defeated. What could he do now? He took out his phone and ran through the list of contacts. One was even more useless than the next…

Then he realized that what he needed was a lock smith. Surely there were some companies like that around? He quickly did a google search, and with a wary eye on his phone’s battery levels, he dialled the number that popped up.

About forty-five minutes later, a van turned into his street. The lock smith had arrived. Ermal was saved.

Except… “This model lock,” the man said, shaking his head, “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Not without completely destroying the door, at least. I doubt that is what you want,” he continued, after having stared at the lock for another minute.

Ermal had to admit that indeed, that was not what he wanted, so he could only watch the van drive off again. He then surveyed the house in desperation, looking for an open window, a way in, but he didn’t see anything. Of course not, he always made sure to close all windows before leaving the house. Give burglars no chance, and all that.

He stood there, and thought about it. He had his wallet, he had money. He’d just… stay in a hotel until Mr Borsato was back. He could do that. He would be fine. It was a pity of the money he would have to spend, he had so much rather spent it on that holiday he had been starting to plan a little, that trip around Europe, that trip to see the seas… Still, it was his own stupid fault that he was locked out like this.

Though… He had one more chance. When he had delivered his key to Mr Borsato, he had chuckled in that typical way of his, and said something that his spare key resided at the neighbour. Ermal didn’t particularly feel as if the woman in question liked him very much, and admittedly, the chance was quite small that she would feel inclined to hand over this key she had responsibility for, to a man she didn’t know, who only had a vague story about needing his own spare key… Besides, even if she would let him in the house, he had no idea where Mr Borsato even kept the key. Still, it was worth a try, wasn’t it? Once again, he walked those streets he knew so well.

Lost in thought and doubts as he was, it took a few tries before he noticed that somebody was calling his name.

“Ermal, Is everything alright?”

“Fabrizio. Yes, of course, I’m fine!”

Fabrizio only looked at him over the garden fence.

“Are you? Libero got a bit worried when he saw you passing by multiple times in the past hour, and now here you are again.”

Ermal tried to smile, but it wasn’t really working.

“Yes, well, it turns out I’m rather an idiot and I’ve managed to lock myself out of my house. Really stupid, I just forgot my keys this morning and the door locks itself… I was just trying to get my spare key from the friend I gave it to.”

Fabrizio’s smile was a much better attempt than Ermal’s, surprisingly warm, and not mocking at all, even though Ermal expected that a little.

“So you’re all good now?”

“Well… No,” Ermal admitted, and at Fabrizio’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “So, my friend is away for a few days so I couldn’t actually get the key. But it’s all okay, I was just on my way to ask his neighbour for his spare key so I can get mine! And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just stay in a hotel, it’s no big deal!”.

“A hotel? Of course not!”

“Well, it’s still better than sleeping in my garden just because I can’t get inside.”

“No, no, I mean, why don’t you stay here?”

“Where?” Ermal was sure that he hadn’t heard Fabrizio correctly, or just did not understand correctly, because ‘here’ would mean… Fabrizio’s house?

“At my place. You’re not going to pay for a hotel when I have a perfectly fine guest bed room available!”

Ermal thought he might rather prefer to pay after all, because stay at Fabrizio’s place? For two nights? Surely that would lead to some cracks in their fragile friendship, spending so much time together when they had barely gotten used to being friendly to each other for just five minutes a day?

“That’s really not necessary, I don’t want to bother you. I’ll be fine!”

Fabrizio let out a low chuckle.

“You wouldn’t be a bother, not at all. In fact, it would make me feel a lot better that I finally can help you with something, after all you did.”

“I didn’t do that much, really, you don’t have to.”

“Ermal, we’ve discussed this before, you did. And I insist. Come on, no hotels for you. There’s no reason to.”

Ermal thought about it. He didn’t necessarily want to stay over at Fabrizio’s place. But he also did not want to stay in a hotel, and that money, he definitely knew a better place for that. So… Couldn’t he just accept Fabrizio’s offer? And who knows, maybe it might work out, maybe it wouldn’t be a threat to their friendship, spending time together. Once upon a time, in those first weeks, he’d taken any opportunity for exactly that, spend more time together and find out more about this man. Still, it was a lot, two nights, evenings, mornings…

“I’ll open the door to let you in,” Fabrizio said, and disappeared into the house. Apparently the decision had already been made. Maybe that was better, Ermal didn’t have any good counter arguments he wanted to share anyway.

So that left him, some time later, hovering around the kitchen while Fabrizio had started cooking dinner. Ermal had already asked about five times if there was anything he could do to help, but apparently there wasn’t. He was told he was the guest, that he should just have a seat and relax. But he couldn’t. So awkwardly hovering it was.

Finally, Fabrizio had had enough of it. “Ermal, do you want to look for Anita and Libero? Tell them dinner is almost ready, and please don’t let them forget to wash their hands first!”

Ermal dutifully went out of the kitchen and started looking for the two children. He’d seen Libero last in the living room, but it was empty now. A look in the garden told him that he wasn’t there, either. And Anita was nowhere to be seen either, so that left… upstairs? Could he just go there? Or call for them at the bottom of the stairs? This was not his house, these were not his children, and he didn’t know what to do.

With a look back at the kitchen door, he realized that he also could not go back without fulfilling his task. So he found a good midden ground, and made it to halfway up the stairs and then softly called out, “Libero? Anita? Dinner’s ready!”

And it felt strange. It felt like something that in another world might be normal, habitual, something to be done without thinking about it. Yet, as it was, it was a strange thing to do. Still, it was successful, and he saw two heads pop around a door, looking at him.

“But you have to wash your hands first!” Ermal added, now that he had found the children and had their attention. Both Libero and Anita nodded, and Ermal made his way back to the kitchen again, glad he had fulfilled this task.

“They’re coming,” he told Fabrizio, as he took the seat that was pointed out to him.

“Thanks,” came the answer, followed by a rather nice smile, that Ermal tried to not to stare at. Luckily he was quickly shaken out his trance by the arrival of Libero and Anita, who each took their seat at the table.

Dinner was comfortable and came with good food, apparently Fabrizio knew how to cook. And with the children around, there was no time for any awkward silences. The evening passed like that, after a dessert of some ice cream, they watched a movie together in the living room. Ermal would have felt out of place, felt like he should feel out of place, but he didn’t. He didn’t get a chance, with Libero sitting on some pillows at his feet, leaning against his legs, and with Anita between him and Fabrizio on the couch.

How had things changed so much in just a week or so? How had he and Fabrizio gone from not talking to each other to _this_? How did these two children just accept his presence here like this? Not that he minded, no, not at all. A thought came to him, but he pushed it down, firmly, determinedly, because he would not let himself think about how _nice_ this was, how _well_ he fit here, in this family. It wasn’t like that. It would not be like that. He knew that, and he should not get lost in pointless dreams. This was just for tonight, maybe tomorrow, nothing more than that. So he better enjoyed it while he could.

And he did enjoy it, while it lasted. It didn’t last very long, though. The movie had finished, and it was time for Anita to go to bed. Libero could stay up a little longer, but chose to do so in his bedroom. That left Ermal still sitting on that couch, mindlessly staring at the television, waiting for Fabrizio to return. He did so, after a while, carrying two steaming mugs and an assortment of tea bags.

“Would you like some tea?”

Ermal gladly accepted, taking one of the mugs, and selecting one of the tea bags. He was glad for something to focus on, because now that the children were gone, and it was just the two of them, it was a little awkward. They had sat in this room before, like this. At daytime instead of night, with coffee instead of tea, but still it was very similar. Only this time, there weren’t any serious conversations to have, no misunderstandings to solve, and no apologies to give.

That left them with small talk, and it should not have been a bad thing, they still should get to know each other better, they knew hardly anything about each other, really, but conversation flowed clumsily, haltingly. Fabrizio gladly took the excuse of checking on Libero and Anita, and Ermal watched him go.

As soon as he was alone, he let his head sink down, rubbing his eyes. How had it been so easy earlier, and how was it so hard now? There was just something that made him feel out of place, and now without the distractions the children offered, he noticed it. He felt almost uncomfortable. And it wasn’t because of Fabrizio, he did everything he could to make sure Ermal felt welcome.

So it was all his own fault. This whole awkward atmosphere was all on him. And why? He wanted this to go well, he wanted this friendship to work.

But maybe that was exactly the problem. He wanted this too much, he was trying too hard. He put way too much weight on everything, trying to read between the lines when there was nothing too find. There were no hidden meanings, of course there weren’t. Fabrizio had offered his guest room to him to help, because that’s what friends did. Friendship was what they had, and given all that had happened, even that was special.

Yes, friendship was what they had, and friendship was all they would have. It was stupid to wish for more, it would never be, and Ermal should come to terms with that.

“Is everything alright?”

Ermal looked up with a sudden shock, he hadn’t heard Fabrizio return.

“Yes, yes, just tired,” he managed to say in what he hoped was a semblance of normalcy. He should act normally, friendly, there was nothing more, and he should do well to remember that.

It was rather hard to remember that, though, when Fabrizio had let himself fall back on the couch, flicking through the channels on the TV, and was now closer than before, radiating warmth. It was rather hard to remember that, when Fabrizio had changed into more comfortable clothes, now wearing low hanging pants and a soft, clearly well-worn band T-shirt. A shirt that looked rather nice on him.

“You’re free to go to bed, you know. Just let me know if you want me to read you a bedtime story too, I just practiced my voices!” Fabrizio suddenly said, jokingly, with a sideways glance at Ermal.

Again, it was all Ermal could do to act normally, laugh at that, and ignore all the scenarios that were called up in his mind. Not so much the bedtime story, of course not – though he had to admit Fabrizio’s voice was rather nice and it surely would be an experience to listen him bringing some storybook characters come to life – it was rather the Fabrizio taking him to bed part. With a shake of his head he tried to dispel all those images. He really had to get his mind out of the gutter.

“No, no, I’ll stay up a bit longer, but thanks for the offer!” he tried, only to end up with an echoing _thanks for the offer_ in his mind. Why had he said that?

Fabrizio didn’t react though, and in silence they watched the news that had started playing on the television. Ermal gratefully used this time to put himself together, or at least to try that, just a bit more to make it through the evening. It would be fine, he just needed to make it a bit longer and then he would have the whole night to give everything a place and deal with everything and he would be good to act normally tomorrow.

The news had turned to summaries of football matches, and finally they managed to get some kind of conversation going, discussing the football teams they supported, sharing their opinions on iconic matches and players.

Finally, Ermal felt at ease, the atmosphere had improved a lot, and finally, it felt like a situation between friends. What undoubtedly helped was that Fabrizio’s opinions were surprisingly similar to those of Dino and it made it all a bit more familiar.

Yes, finally, Ermal felt comfortable and at ease.

At least, until suddenly, Fabrizio put his arm on the back rest of the couch, sliding closer and closer to Ermal. Ermal froze. Was Fabrizio putting his arm around Ermal’s shoulder? No, right? Why would he? There was no reason to. None. Of course not, but it only let to more thoughts and ideas that Ermal should definitely _not_ have. He couldn’t take this, it had been hard enough to keep himself together with that heat still radiation from Fabrizio sitting next to him, but now it was also behind him, it was everywhere, and it was _not good_.

Awkwardly, Ermal twisted around, somehow managing to move so that his back was no longer against the back rest of the couch, moving away from that arm. Moving away, even though he wanted nothing more than to lean into that touch, but he couldn’t, he knew that _it wasn’t like that_ , and he would ruin everything he had now (and then he would really have to sleep on the street tonight). He could feel Fabrizio’s gaze on him, and he definitely did not want to meet it. He kept staring at the television, scrambling around for something to say, something mundane, something to fill their silence that had become rather heavy.

“So…,” he started, “Um, you know, you might think I’m stupid for locking myself out and all that, but I’m not, cause I’ve got this friend – best friend actually, his name’s Marco, we go way back, he’s really helped me out a lot at times – Anyway, I’ve got this friend and he once locked himself out too, but then decided that he would just climb through the first floor window that was open. His plan was to climb on the roof of the shed and then somehow make it to the window. But he never even made it that far, because the roof of the shed collapsed partially, and his leg got stuck, and then he had to call out for help until someone finally heard him… and yeah, I don’t have it so bad.” Ermal shut his mouth to end his aimless babbling. At least it had worked, right, he had managed to redirect the conversation and at the same time take his mind off certain topics.

Fabrizio responded only with a vague chuckle, but offered no stories about locked out acquaintances of his own. Instead, he put the TV remote on the table and got up, looking at Ermal with somewhat of a guarded look in his eyes.

“I’m going to sleep now, it will be an early start tomorrow. You’re welcome to stay and watch more TV, in the kitchen you can find something to drink if you want it and… yeah, that’s it I guess. Make yourself at home, and good night!”

Ermal barely had time to echo a “Good night!”, before Fabrizio had disappeared up the stairs. He sank back into the cushions of the couch. It had felt a bit abrupt, but a glance at the clock on the wall told him it was past eleven, and no doubt school started early. It was probably just his own imagination spinning tales again. With a deep sigh, he went through the channels one more time, two times, but when he didn’t find anything interesting to watch, he decided he should also just try to sleep. He would need his energy to keep his thoughts under control, and then everything would be perfectly fine. Less awkward. Friends. Yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I'd love it if you tell me your thoughts! :) Also I've sorted out some slight plot issues, so I hope writing will be easier now :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day staying at Fabrizio's place. How will it go after that awkward evening? Can their still fragile relationship take all this time so suddenly spent together?

Fabrizio had been right, the next morning started early. Ermal was woken up by the children’s voices and their feet rumbling down the stairs. Part of him wished he could stay in bed, hide on the side lines until the family had left for school, work. He knew, however, that he couldn’t do that. It would be like treating Fabrizio as no more than a hotel, and he did not deserve that. If last night was any indication, Fabrizio did not plan on treating him like an anonymous guest either, but rather like a family friend. And that was exactly what he was, he realized, but it felt strange, as he’d never spent so much time together with this family before. Why would he, if he had had a home to go to just a few streets away?

So Ermal got out of the bed, got dressed, and then made his way downstairs. He found Fabrizio, Libero and Anita in the kitchen, having breakfast. Fabrizio wished him a good morning with a smile and nodded to the empty seat at the table, where another plate and glass of orange juice were waiting for Ermal. He sat down gratefully, looking at the table in front of him, and trying to figure out what the children’s conversation was about.

As he ate his food, Ermal realized how double the relationship was with this family, and with Fabrizio in particular. It was on one hand so superficial, where they hardly knew anything about each other, and on the other hand it was like this, sitting at the breakfast table, thrown into the middle of the hectic morning routine that was getting two children ready for school, a morning routine that included complete outfits and a healthy breakfast.

Eventually, Fabrizio and the children made it out of the house, off to school and some meeting or other, while Ermal had a bit more time before he also left the house, getting ready for work. When he came back from his mail round, he came back to a house again full of people, Fabrizio making a snack for Libero and Anita.

The afternoon passed peacefully, the children playing, Fabrizio watching some series on his laptop, Ermal engrossed in a book he had picked up off Fabrizio’s shelf. Yes, it was peaceful, until Fabrizio, having finished an episode, checked the time and called Libero and Anita.

“Mama will be here soon, why don’t you pack your bags and say goodbye to Ermal?”

Libero went to his room without any comment, packing his backpack with the necessary items. Anita, however, didn’t. She went up to Fabrizio, who put her on his lap indulgently.

“Will Ermal stay here?”

“Yes, piccola, he will stay until tomorrow, then he can get his own key and go home.”

“I want to stay here too!”

Fabrizio brushed her hair with his hands to tame it a bit.

“You can’t, dear, you have to go with mama for the weekend, just like always.”

“But I don’t want to say goodbye,” Anita whispered, while her lip started to quiver threateningly, and when Fabrizio repeated the “You have to, just for the weekend”, while hugging her, she started crying, seemingly heartbroken over the prospect.

Ermal just stared at the two, not sure what he should do, what he could do, until in the middle of it all, the doorbell sounded.

“Can you please open?” Fabrizio asked Ermal, still trying to calm down Anita, and failing.

Ermal went to the hallway, opening the door to the woman smiling at him with a slightly confused look in her eyes. Giada, presumably.

“Hello, who are you?” she asked him.

Before Ermal could answer, they were interrupted by Libero leaping down the stairs.

“Mama!”

Giada hugged her son, and then asked him, “Why is Anita crying?”, as the little girl’s sobs were clearly audible in the doorway.

“She doesn’t want to say goodbye to Ermal,” Libero explained.

“Who is Ermal?”

“Me,” Ermal said, while Libero clarified helpfully, “He’s the mailman.” 

“A friend of Fabrizio’s,” Ermal corrected, as surely that was a better way of explaining why he was opening the door than Libero’s addition, and shook Giada’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Ermal, mailman, friend of Fabrizio’s.” Giada had a certain glint in her eye that made Ermal a bit suspicious that she’d been told some things about him. Good or bad, that was the question. 

They made their way to the living room, where Fabrizio was carrying a still crying Anita. She reached out her little arms when she saw them. Not to her mother though, but to Ermal.

“I want to stay here” she cried, and Ermal threw a panicked look at Fabrizio as he was suddenly handed Anita. Why? What was he supposed to do now? 

“You’ll see me again next week!” he tried, but only got another sob in return. 

“But you won’t be _here here_!” she complained, burying her face against his chest. 

Now, that was true. But what could he do about it? He just knew that he couldn’t stand the little girl’s crying.

“You know what? If you ask your mama and papa nicely, maybe they will let you come to my house for a visit soon, would you like that?” 

That got Anita’s attention.

“Like a sleepover?” she asked, eyes wide.

Before he knew it, he nodded, “Yes, like a sleepover.”

Then he realized what he’d said, and shot another look at Fabrizio, wondering if that was something he could propose at all, wondering if he overstepped so many lines here, wondering why he even agreed with Anita. 

It seemed to have been a good thing to say though, because Anita quietened and looked between Giada and Fabrizio. 

“Can I? Please?” 

Here Giada stepped in. “If you now behave yourself and go get your backpack. Libero will help you.” 

The children disappeared upstairs, leaving the three adults in the room, looking at each other. Well, mostly looking at Ermal.

“I’m sorry, of course that was not up to me, I’ll tell her that it can’t happen after all, I’m so sorry,” Ermal babbled, cheeks growing red under those intense gazes.

“If Fabrizio has no problem with it, I don’t see why she can’t. He knows you well enough to make that decision. Unless you rather don’t want her to after all?” Giada said, making it sound like a challenge. Ermal understood a little bit better where Anita got her strong character from. It sounded like a challenge, but he heard a warning too. It was entirely up to him if he wanted to break Anita’s heart now.

“Of course I do, she’s very welcome, um, Fabrizio?”

Fabrizio looked at him with an indecipherable expression on his face.

“Fabri?” Giada gently prompted when he didn’t reply, Ermal just staring, wondering whether Fabrizio would trust him with his daughter like this.

“I see no problem, of course not.”

“Really?” Ermal blurted out before he could stop himself.

He never got another answer though, as Libero and Anita came running back down the stairs, ready to leave. Anita still didn’t look happy about it, but at least she had something to look forward to, and she wasn’t going to mess it up by misbehaving now.

The children hugged Fabrizio and Ermal goodbye, and then left with Giada, leaving the two men to wave at them from the doorway. When the car had turned the corner, they went inside, not looking at each other, but unbeknownst to the other, occupied with the same kind of thoughts. Wasn’t that nice, not being alone when the children left? Still having someone to talk to, not being swallowed up by a house that was really too big for one person? Wasn’t that nice, feeling like belonging to this family, being accepted, trusted like this? Wouldn’t that be nice, to have this every week?  
  
Fabrizio decided to start on dinner, asking Ermal to help with some cutting and setting the table. Dinner passed unremarkably enough, some small talk, some companionable silence, at least no awkwardness like the night before. Not yet, at least, because that was about to change.

“I should have told you before, but I won’t be home tonight,” Fabrizio suddenly said. Ermal looked up at him, beginning to say how that was okay, he was here all unexpectedly, of course Fabrizio had other plans.

“I’m meeting friends,” Fabrizio explained before he could say much though, and Ermal wondered what he should do with that information. It didn’t sound like an invitation, he was absolutely sure it wasn’t one, but what Fabrizio then wanted him to know, he had no idea.

“That’s fun. Have fun,” Ermal managed, slicing his meat, but wishing he could be as effective in slicing the heavy silence that had suddenly manifested around them. What was it, that one moment was great, and the next was just… not?

“Thank you,” Fabrizio replied, heartbeats too late, and it seemed he also did not know what had happened to the good mood of before.

They finished their dinner in silence, and then Ermal stepped in, saying he could do the dishes while Fabrizio got ready for his evening out, anything to keep himself busy, anything to fill this silence. Fabrizio didn’t argue as much as he usually would have done, Ermal thought, if another guest had offered to do the dishes. He was eager to escape the atmosphere between them, and Ermal had just given him the perfect opportunity to do so.

Finally, Fabrizio had left the house, the dishes were done, and Ermal sat a bit lost on the couch. He felt exactly how alone he was in this unfamiliar house, staring at the television that he wasn’t paying attention to. Watching the minutes pass by on the clock, he finally got up and got a glass of wine from the kitchen. Nice wine, he noted, Fabrizio had good taste. Ermal wandered around the room, exploring all the personal items that cluttered in the kitchen.

Magnets on the fridge, clearly souvenirs form holidays. A pin board on the wall, filled with letters from the children’s school, schedules for sports clubs and trash collection, flyers for food deliveries, some pictures and drawings. One shelf was filled with cookbooks, though as far as Ermal could judge, they weren’t used very often.

He wandered back to the living room, pausing briefly in the hallway to admire the family pictures on the wall there. In the living room, there were more paintings and drawings, both professional and those from the children, lining the wall. The shelves in a corner were filled with music, but books too, and Ermal spent a good while running his hand over the covers, comparing his tastes to those of Fabrizio, leafing through the books he didn’t know.

A glance at the clock told him it was still relatively early, especially for a Friday night. Surely Fabrizio would be out longer. Ermal wondered what to do, the television did not offer anything interesting, and he didn’t feel like reading, really.

He topped up his wine, and then wandered around the house some more. There was one more door, he paused in front of it. Fabrizio had introduced it to him as the door to the studio, and Ermal wasn’t sure if he should go in. It wasn’t so much the question if he was _allowed_ to enter, but rather the question if he _should_.

Ermal stood there for a while, contemplating, weighing the regrets of not opening the door with those waiting for him on the other side. After another mouthful of wine had made it down his throat, he made the decision, and slowly pushed the door open. The room wasn't what he had expected. He would have guessed the room would be cramped somehow, and dark, but it wasn't, not at all. It was modern with cool lighting once Ermal flipped the switch. Glass doors showed the black night outside, there was a large fireplace that Ermal did not expect at all, and a sleek couch in front of a room divider.

And a piano.

The piano, there it was, black and gleaming, calling to him. Somehow, the room faded away until all that was left was the piano. Slowly, he stepped over to it, leaving his glass on one of the shelves of the room divider. He stood in front of the instrument, memories already battling for attention in his mind, and he hadn't even touched it yet. He slid the stool back a bit and sat down. For a moment, he let his right hand hover above the keys. He could still go back, he could still leave this room and pretend the instrument wasn't here.

But no. Of course he couldn't. One more shaky breath and then he let his hand fall down, letting gravity do its job, and the tone sounded through the room.

It sounded like coming home. Coming home, but not to the place you remembered. It sounded like the place that's left when the opportunities are gone, when all the possibilities have folded together until there is only one path left. It sounded like coming home in a way that broke his heart.

He had both hands on the keys now. So familiar but also foreign. It had been so long. Too long. He knew that, he felt it in his chest. He pushed some more keys, listened to the sounds that filled the air. A certain tone made him recall, with sudden, perfect clarity, the first time he had done this, pushed at those white and black keys and made the sounds appear, like magic. He remembered the lessons, the practice, the evenings spent playing the same little bits of music over and over again. He remembered other music too, his mother playing the violin, challenging him to play along and make magic like this together.

He remembered the last time he had played. It hadn't been a piano then, but a keyboard. A keyboard that was supposed to be a present, but a keyboard that he knew he couldn't accept. He had played it once, just his favourite songs, and had then returned it.

He had returned the keyboard and vowed he would not let his family waste money on him like that. Not when they could use it for so many other things. It was not that important, he was not that important.

Still, some part of his heart had broken that day when he left the keyboard in the shop, money in his pocket to return to his mother. He had made the right decision, he knew that, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Since then, he had avoided instruments, but pianos above all.

Yet, now here he was, and it came all back to him, as if the years and years hadn't passed at all. His fingers found the patterns, the rhythms, his ears were cataloguing every tone that appeared, mapping them to the expected sounds in his mind, until they were the same.

And here, in this room, that was so different from what he expected, in a life that was so different from what he had once hoped it might be, he allowed himself to wonder, and think of what life might have been if he hadn't given up on music that day...

Maybe he would have made it, maybe it would all have worked out. What might life have looked like then? What would it be like, still living and breathing music? How good might he have become? It would have changed everything, the way his days were filled, the experiences he had, the people he’d met…

Ermal stayed there, he did not know how long, lost in thoughts, lost in the music called into being by his fingers. There was a surprising ease to this, as if the decades hadn’t passed at all, as if it had been yesterday that he had played last. He stayed there, sitting, playing.

Until a voice pulled him back to the present.

“Ermal, that sounds amazing! I didn’t know you could play!”

There was one more tone, as Ermal’s finger slipped, and then he froze. With that short comment, he was hurled through time and space, back to this room in a house on a street in Rome.

Slowly, he turned around on the stool, facing the man that had appeared in the doorway. Fabrizio.

“Ermal? Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Fabrizio sounded so worried, and he took a small step into the room, closer to Ermal.

Ermal didn’t say anything, only slowly lifted his hand to touch his cheek, surprised to find it wet. He _was_ crying.

“Ermal?” Fabrizio asked again, softer now, stepping forward just a tiny bit more, but hesitating, not sure if he should interrupt this moment at all. It didn’t make it better that Ermal didn’t respond, still seemed lost in his own world, he was looking at Fabrizio, but not seeing him.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” Fabrizio said, waiting a second, two, to see if that would get a reaction, but when it didn’t, he slowly went out of the room again.

He came back later, after a time had passed that seemed longer than necessary for getting a glass of water. Ermal didn’t mind that, though. The time had given him a chance to come back to the present, back to himself, get a grip on his thoughts, his emotions again.

And Fabrizio’s timing was good, because while Ermal had come back to himself, he didn’t have enough time to spiral into worries and doubts. A few still surfaced in the time he accepted the glass and sipped the water. Was he even allowed to be in the studio, without asking? What was Fabrizio thinking? He surely wanted answers, right?

Or maybe he didn’t, because at that point Fabrizio spoke softly again.

“Do you want to be alone a little bit more?”

Ermal sipped his water and thought. Did he want to? Not really. Yes, he was afraid of Fabrizio’s questions, judgements, but his own mind was probably a darker place to be, if he got the chance to fall back into it. He didn’t trust his voice, not yet, so he just shook his head, looking at Fabrizio, hoping he would understand what he wanted, needed, right now.

And it seemed he did, because Fabrizio sank down on the edge of the couch, so that he was closest to Ermal as he could be, while still giving him his space. And then, nothing happened. There were no questions, no comments, nothing. Fabrizio just sat there on the couch, offering his company, his support, but not forcing it on Ermal.

Ermal could feel that if he now were to change his mind, if he did say “Please leave me alone for a while”, Fabrizio would do so without complaints. He was just _there_ , without demanding anything from Ermal. And maybe that was exactly what made him open up.

He told Fabrizio about his past, didn’t hold back. It was difficult, of course it was, but part of him was glad that he was finally telling his whole story to someone. To Fabrizio. But it was difficult. He didn’t want to look at him, he didn’t want to read the expressions on his face. So Ermal toyed with the now empty glass, eyes fixed on it, letting it move through his fingers, until he almost dropped it for the second time, and Fabrizio’s hand appeared to take it from him and put on the shelves behind him. That left his hands rather unoccupied and it was no good, he needed something to focus on while he talked, and now that he didn’t have that anymore, he faltered.

But the story wasn’t finished yet, he had more to tell Fabrizio, more to share, and now that he’d started, he _needed_ to tell him everything. Ermal looked at Fabrizio, somehow frozen in this wanting to speak, but his inability to do so. Fabrizio only returned his look steadily, still there for him, supporting him, even after all he’d heard.

“Play, if it helps,” he said softly, nodding at the piano.

Ermal turned around slowly, dubiously, would it be a good idea at all to go back to the piano? Tentatively, he touched a key, and waited for how it would make him feel. Surprisingly, it felt good. Somehow, it fit the story he was telling, and so he continued where he had left off, fingers now of their own accord running over the keys, filling the room with soft tones that accompanied Ermal’s voice.

Finally, he was done, and his voice fell silent. His fingers did not, though, they kept playing a melody he was pretty sure he had never heard before. But he wasn’t thinking about it, not now, he was just letting it happen, and with each note he felt more at peace. Fabrizio had been right, playing did help. How could he have known?

Then, after a while, also his fingers stilled, and Ermal turned back to face Fabrizio. It was such a change from before, now he was not worrying about what he might think, for once his mind was at quiet.

With a soft smile, he met Fabrizio’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, trying to put all his sincere gratitude in those two little words. Somehow, Fabrizio had done exactly what Ermal had needed, even when he didn’t know what that was himself. He had listened, without interrupting, without judging, and in that way had given Ermal peace of mind he had missed for a long time.

“It was all you,” Fabrizio replied, mirroring Ermal’s smile, “You did everything yourself, I just was here.”

“That was exactly what I needed,” Ermal said, and got up from the piano stool, stretching out his arms until Fabrizio got the hint and got up too, hugging him. “So thank you, for being here.”

When they finally let each other go, Fabrizio stood there looking at Ermal, who looked back, feeling so _comfortable_ now in his presence. He hadn’t expected it, would have expected the opposite after all this, but it wasn’t awkward or strange at all.

“I’m glad you feel better, and that I could help a little,” Fabrizio said, pausing, and adding with a thoughtful look in his eyes, “You know, Ermal, it’s never too late to start again. You’re welcome to play a bit more if you want to.”

Ermal let his gaze fall back to the piano. Somehow, it was still calling him, but now not demanding and desperate like before, but like a very old friend.

“I’d like to. Thank you,” he said, smiling at Fabrizio, taking a seat again on the stool. He brushed the keys, remembering that unknown melody from before, and started playing it, softly, but more confident as he went on.

Fabrizio regarded him for a minute, and then decided to leave him to it. Briefly, he put his hand on Ermal’s shoulder, the warmth and presence filling him with some extra strength. Ermal looked up, grateful, and then Fabrizio left the room, leaving the door open on a crack to let Ermal’s music sound through the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what your thoughts are after this chapter! Comments make me very very happy <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Ermal to get his keys back, to finally get his keys back and go home. And also, he promised a little girl a sleepover, did he not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure that this is happiest, least angsty chapter I have written in a long time, between this and the murder fic, so I hope you enjoy the almost 5K of (mostly) fluff :) Please leave me a comment with your thoughts!

For the last time that weekend, Ermal pulled the Mobrici’s front door shut behind him. Finally, he could get his own key, Mr Borsato would be back. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed himself, being Fabrizio’s guest, but he was very glad he could go back to his own home. Finally enjoy that book, finally enjoy that wine, and think over all the things that had happened in peace.

On his round earlier, he’d seen that Mr Borsato wasn’t home yet, but surely he would be now, so Ermal went over once again. This time, finally he looked into the smiling face of Mr Borsato after he had rung the doorbell.

“Ermal! Nice to see you again, come in!”

Ermal sat down on the couch and accepted the coffee that was put into his hands. Before he could tell Mr Borsato about his problems, or ask for that key, and go home, finally go home, his friend had launched into long descriptions of his short holiday. Ermal made two futile attempts to interrupt the flow of descriptions, opinions, and anecdotes, but then gave up. He knew that in this kind of mood it was best to just let Mr Borsato talk.

Finally, a long time later, Mr Borsato fell silent. He sipped his by now surely cold coffee, and then asked Ermal how his week had been.

“Well,” Ermal said, finally being able to get to the point of his visit, “I locked myself out of my house, I wanted to ask you for my spare key.”

Mr Borsato got up to look for the key, triumphantly taking it from a wooden box in a drawer, and then turning back to Ermal.

“You’re lucky that I’m exactly back today then, so you can get it immediately!”

“Oh. Oh, no, I didn’t actually lock myself out _today_ , I was not so lucky,” Ermal admitted, adding more quietly, “It’s been two days already, so I’m really glad that you’re back.”

“Two days?” Mr Borsato looked at him. “What did you do? Where did you stay?”

Ermal hesitated before answering, he could feel that he wouldn’t like what was coming.

“I, um, well, Fabrizio was nice enough to let me stay at his place,” he muttered finally.

Mr Borsato had been on the point of handing the key to Ermal, but stopped when he got that information.

“Fabrizio? _The_ Fabrizio? Isn’t that interesting?” he said with a rather dangerous glint in his eye.

“Yes. Him. Can I get the key?” Ermal tried, hoping against hope to somehow escape the inevitable, reaching out his hand in case of the tiny possibility that maybe Mr Borsato would hand him the key without more comments so he could _go_.

“No. Maybe…” Mr Borsato only started, shaking his head and folding his arms, while he looked at Ermal, “Maybe I should hang on to this a little longer, so the lovebirds can get their nest together? Maybe this is the perfect opportunity for some _communication_ and tell him something you’ve had on your mind for a while. Wouldn’t you think so, Ermal? Maybe it’s a message from up above.”

Ermal groaned. Fabrizio and him – it wasn’t like that, it wouldn’t be like that, and the more he thought about that, the more awkward everything would get, because the more he would wish for it. He might act on those wishes, and he would ruin _everything_.

“No! Please, no, please just give it to me. Please?”

When he had been standing in front of Mr. Borsato’s door, again, Ermal hadn’t thought he would end up begging for his key, and he definitely hadn’t planned to, but the thought of Mr Borsato being able to tease him even longer, or worse, the thought of having to go back to Fabrizio’s for another night was too much to bear.

Mr Borsato seemed to sense his urgency, because he finally handed over the key without another comment, but not without an expression on his face that told Ermal he might escape him now, but that the last word about this situation hadn’t been spoken yet. No doubt, Mr Borsato would have some questions about what had happened these past few days.

Ermal had his key though, he finally had his key. He could go home, and spend his two free days working through all that had happened in peace. Alone. He just wanted to be alone for a bit in a familiar place, and _think_.

And that’s exactly what he did. By Monday evening, he had realized a few things. First, if he had a crush on Fabrizio before, it had now changed to something else, something deeper, something harder to shake off (something _even_ harder to shake off, maybe now it would just be impossible). Yes, the days spent with Fabrizio had been awkward, but it hadn’t been like that the whole time. Some moments had been great, them together, or them together with the children. In these moments, Ermal had felt like he belonged. He knew how dangerous it was to think like that, but at the same time he couldn’t deny that his own house seemed rather empty compared to Fabrizio’s. Ermal tried to tell himself that it was just a case of getting used to being alone again after two days of being suddenly thrown in the midst of a very lively family, but he knew that wasn’t it. Not completely at least.

And second, Ermal couldn’t help but go back to that evening in Fabrizio’s studio. It was miraculous, really, how Fabrizio had done _exactly_ the right thing to calm him down, to make him feel better. Ermal didn’t want to give up on a person like that, he wanted to keep him around. Even when friendship was all he would ever have, it would be more than enough. Just having Fabrizio in his life would be enough, and he was not going to ruin it with being stuck up on his unreciprocated feelings.

And he had his chance to be part of that family again, sooner than he thought. Because halfway through that week, when he passed the house on number 125, Fabrizio called him. Ermal resolutely ignored how his heart sped up when their eyes met, and resolutely ignored the part of his brains that were convinced this had to turn awkward. Of course it didn’t, they were just two friends who happened to meet and were now talking.

And it wasn’t awkward, surprisingly enough. Both leaning on the garden fence, they just made some small talk. Small talk, but not meaningless or empty, and Ermal enjoyed it. He felt his mood, that hadn’t even been bad to begin with, lighten up with every smile they shared.

Finally, Fabrizio came to the point.

“So, Anita has been asking about that sleepover. I totally understand if that was just a spur of the moment thing…” he trailed off, though he didn’t sound like he was giving him a challenge, like Giada had, he just sounded like he _did_ understand.

“No, no, I meant it, she’s very welcome – if you don’t mind, of course!”

Somehow, Ermal still couldn’t quite fathom that Fabrizio would trust _him_ with Anita’s care for a whole night. He’d said before that he was fine with it, but Ermal would have understood if he was just saying that to be nice, or that in the past few days he’d changed his mind.

Fabrizio looked at him, or rather, stared at him, narrowing his eyes little. Then he took a deep breath, not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Ermal, listen, please believe me when I say this, because I mean it. You are great with children. I’ve seen you with Anita and Libero, I’ve heard the neighbour’s stories. You are gentle, you are patient, you are sweet, of course I don’t mind. I left the children in your care before, and I heard nothing but stories how they enjoyed themselves and how nice you were. And then I haven’t forgotten how you were with them – before, you know, with the mail. So I don’t know what exactly you’re thinking, why you are so doubtful – though I guess I can understand a little, now – ” he said, quickly continuing as if he hadn’t planned on saying that last bit out loud, “But Ermal, it’s not necessary. You’re so good with children, and they love you, especially Anita. Of course I do not mind her staying with you.”

Ermal didn’t know what to say after that speech, staring at the ground, trying not to blink, because he felt tears threatening to fall if he would do so. What Fabrizio had said, those were the nicest, most unexpected and heartfelt things anyone had said to him in a long time and he didn’t quite know how to react. But he should react, he couldn’t just stand there and be silent. So he looked up, and if Fabrizio’s face seemed a little bit red, then surely that was just the sun shining down on them, right?

“Fabrizio, thank you, really– ” Ermal tried, but stopped, because in fact he did not know how to continue. So instead he just decided to drop that, and discuss some more practical issues. “When would suit you?”

“Well, Giada and me were thinking next week in the weekend? The children are staying with me then, because I don’t have to work, and Giada had plans to go out with friends. So if we do it from Saturday on Sunday, it also does not clash with your job. But I understand if you have plans then, of course, this is all very last minute.”

Ermal thought for a minute, trying to remember if he had any plans for that weekend already, but couldn’t come up with anything.

“That sounds good!” he said with a smile. “I don’t have anything, so she’s very welcome then. Why don’t you and Libero come too, for dinner?”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you!” Fabrizio said, returning his smile, and then Ermal left to continue his round, whistling as he did went down the streets.

The days passed, and though he hid it better, it was hard to tell who was more looking forward to this sleepover, Ermal or Anita. He had spent his evenings tidying the house and making it as child-friendly as he could. The day had arrived, and Ermal sat on his couch with his book in his hands, though he wasn’t reading. Rather, he was listening for the doorbell. Finally, it sounded and he got up to open the door, finding Fabrizio and Anita with a stuffed backpack on her back.

“Come in!”

Ermal took the bag and Fabrizio’s and Anita’s coats, and put them in the hallway, ushering the two on to the living room. He joined them a minute later, just in time to see Anita freeze, glance at him in the doorway, and then tug on Fabrizio’s sleeve, all shyly pointing at the wall. Because that, right there, was _her drawing_ , that Ermal framed and put there, just as he promised.

Just as he promised, but it’s one thing to do that, but another thing to actually keep that promise and seeing your own drawing on the mailman’s wall. Besides, grown-ups promised enough that they never actually did.

Fabrizo smiled at him, one of those bright smiles that lit up a room, and Ermal needed just a moment to pull himself together enough to offer them a drink. He joined them then, each with a glass of something sugary.

“Isn’t Libero with you?” Ermal asked, wondering about it, and sipped his drink, looking at Fabrizio.

He shook his head, “No, he decided he wanted a sleepover too, so he’s staying with a friend from the football team.”

Ermal nodded at that, not knowing how to continue now, but luckily Anita had quite recovered from the shock of seeing her drawing framed as if it was a real piece of art, and she launched into a description of the project she’d been working on at school.

Quickly, time passed until Ermal had to start on dinner. He had decided to make an Albanian recipe, one of the few things he just never messed up. He had practiced it often enough, whenever he was feeling homesick, stuck on the other side of the country from his family as he was, and he could only hope Fabrizio and Anita would like it.

And of course they did. In fact, Fabrizio loved it, was rather impressed. Because yes, he was an okay cook, some people would call him good, but he was only familiar with the standard Italian dishes he grew up with. This, though, was something new, something special, and he gladly took a second plate.  

After dinner, leaving the dishes to do later, when Fabrizio went home and Anita was asleep, Ermal took them both up to inspect Anita’s bedroom. It was his guest room, with a real grown up bed, a bed that looked awfully big for a little girl – except that Ermal had found all the stuffed animals in his house and borrowed some more from his nieces, and put them on the bed.

Anita squealed in delight when she saw them, and jumped on the bed. While she was getting acquainted with all the animals, no doubt making new friends, Fabrizio took Ermal aside.

“She might not want to leave again, you know,” he started, but then continued in a more serious tone, “Listen, I just want to say, want to warn you, I have no clue how she’s going to react when I leave. She’s never been on a sleepover before, or at least, only at family, always together with Libero…”

“I understand,” Ermal said, but Fabrizio still continued.

“Just, don’t take it personal It is not personal, I can guarantee you that. If she wants to go home, it is not because of you.”

“I know. We’ve had to pick up Sabina a few times in the middle of the night, and she was older than Anita. Home sickness just happens.”

 Fabrizio looked at him, and then nodded.

“Okay, just please, don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything, anything at all, if she wants to go home, or there’s something else…”

“I will, I promise. I’ll keep an eye on her, and I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

Reassured, Fabrizio left soon after, which was less of a big deal than he had imagined it to be, he found it probably more difficult to leave Anita on her own for the night than his little girl did. Ermal and Anita settled on the couch with a snack and something to drink, to watch the Little Mermaid, Anita’s favourite Disney film, and which also happened to be Ermal’s favourite. Towards the end of the movie, Anita started yawning more and more, and after it had ended, Ermal decided it was a good time for her to go to sleep. He helped her brush teeth and got her tucked into the bed, surrounded by the stuffed animals, the nightlight on the bedside table turned on.

“Are you going to read me a story?” Anita asked, suddenly more awake again, looking excited at the prospect.

“Yes,” Ermal started, but then stopped, because he realized that in all his preparation he had managed to forget to get a picture book to fulfil exactly this request.

“I’ll tell you a fairy tale that my mama told me when I was your age, okay?”

Anita nodded excitedly, and Ermal paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, get the story straight in his mind, and make it work in Italian. Then he started. Luckily, he had a good memory for the details, and told the story the way it was meant to be, including all the best bits and the different voices.

Anita absolutely loved it, and Ermal was a bit surprised by her reaction, the strength of her emotions, how invested she was in it, only then he realized that she’d never heard it before. The story was just _new_ to her. Ermal and his siblings, his nieces, they’d all heard this fairy tale and others for longer than they could remember, but for Anita it was the first time. Ermal concluded the story, expecting he could leave now, that Anita could fall asleep now, but he was mistaken.

“Ermal? Papa always ends with a song, can you sing me a song?”

Ermal sat back down on the edge of the bed and scrambled in his mind for the lyrics of a lullaby, but it was awfully blank. Finally, he came up with something, the only lullaby he knew, and of course it was in Albanian. But it had to do, he had nothing else. And it did, because as he sang, Anita’s eyes soon dripped shut, and she fell asleep clutching a stuffed hedgehog.

Ermal looked down on her, smiling, brushing some hairs from her forehead, and then left the room, keeping the door open on a crack. He filled is evening with the dishes that were still waiting for him in the kitchen and then read a book, not daring to turn on the TV or any music, what if Anita awoke and called for him, needed him? She didn’t, though, was still sound asleep when Ermal checked on her when he finally went to bed himself. He kept his own bedroom door open too, in case anything would happen, anything at all, but again, nothing did.

The next morning, Ermal awoke, more quickly, and earlier than he normally would. Because even subconsciously, he realized that today was different. He could not stay under the covers, lazing away the hours, because today another human being depended on him. So he got up, got dressed, and then softly padded across the hallway in his socks to see whether Anita was awake yet. She was, softly talking to herself, playing with the stuffed animals around her.

Ermal pushed the door open a bit more, and smiled at her.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?”

“Good morning Ermal, I did! Aurora kept all the bad dreams away!”

“Aurora?” Ermal replied, confused. In an answer, Anita showed him the stuffed hedgehog that had apparently captured her heart. Ermal resolved to send a quick text to Sabina to ask whether his nieces were particularly attached to the stuffed animal, and if they would miss it if he were to give it to Anita.

“Do you want to have pancakes for breakfast?” he asked Anita, who jumped up excitedly.

“Yes! Can I?”

“Of course, let’s go downstairs.”

A few minutes later, Anita was sitting at the kitchen table, chattering about everything her mind came up with, while Ermal had started mixing the pancake batter. Of course the first pancake was a disaster, but the second looked as it should, as did the subsequent pancakes. Then, Ermal joined Anita at the table, having put out plates and cutlery, as well as something to drink before. He slid a pancake over to Anita’s plate, who looked in wonder down at the smiley face Ermal had managed to give it with some extra batter.

“It’s a face!” she exclaimed, smiling.

“Yes, and here is some sugar and jam, why don’t you decorate it?”

Anita did, giving the pancake a red smile with some jam and glasses made of sugar, and then gleefully ate her creation. Ermal watched her, this simple breakfast calling up so many of his own memories, sitting at his grandmother’s kitchen table, Rinald and Sabina around him…

“Do you want another one?” he asked her when she finished, and Anita nodded yes.

The second pancake was decorated with the jam and sugar like the first, and when she was done, Anita looked up at Ermal.

“Look, I made you, it has curls!”

Ermal looked at the pancake with a fond smile.

“Are you going to eat me too?”

“Yes! But you know what, papa says eating makes us grow big and strong, so you will help me grow up!”

Ermal blinked and shovelled a bite of his own pancake in his mouth, otherwise he would surely say things no one needed to hear and that Anita would not understand anyway. Or cry, that was also a possibility.

Luckily, Anita was completely oblivious to what her words had done to him, and happily tucked into her pancake.

When she had finished, Ermal made her a quick fruit salad, just to add some healthy food to the breakfast. Then Anita was happy to watch some TV, while Ermal tidied the kitchen and sent an update to Fabrizio, as well as that text to Sabina.

When he was done, he joined Anita on the couch. He had wondered what to do today, maybe they could go outside, enjoy the weather, and he would have, except that there was no weather to enjoy as it was raining cats and dogs outside. Anita didn’t seem to mind, happily watching the cartoons, until they ended. She looked up at Ermal, the question in her eyes clear. It was time that he entertained her.

“Do you want to draw something? Or we can play a game together? I have some pictures for colouring too, if you want that!”

“Yes, colouring!”

Ermal got out the supplies, the pictures and the pencils and felt tips. All unused, all new, but no one needed to know that. They sat at the table together, the radio playing softly in the background. Anita had chosen a picture of a dragon and a donkey, while Ermal was busy colouring an elephant on a beach. At a pause where they both got something to drink, Ermal looked down on his table, a table that was usually half filled with bills that needed to be paid, with just some space for him to eat his dinner alone, and couldn’t quite remember the last time he had had so much fun with something so simple. They continued colouring, until they were finished, and Ermal remembered to check the time.

“Oh, Anita, papa expected you home fifteen minutes ago! Let’s get your stuff and go home!”

Anita looked sad at the prospect of leaving, but didn’t complain, just went upstairs to pack her little backpack. Ermal quickly texted Fabrizio again to say he was sorry they were late, but that they were on their way now. He hoped Fabrizio had not worried too much, hoped he had not ruined this. Then he went upstairs to help Anita, but when he walked into the bedroom she looked up at him, proudly pointing at the backpack.

“Look, it’s all done!”

“Well done, Anita, but aren’t you forgetting something?”

The little girl looked around in confusion, no, she had packed everything she owned and had brought over.

“Aurora surely would miss you if you left her behind,” Ermal said, and handed her the hedgehog. Anita looked up at him with wide eyes, clutching the toy to her chest.

“Really? Can I keep her?”

When Ermal nodded, she jumped up to hug him.

“Thank you!”

Then they went downstairs, Ermal collecting his keys and phone, and importantly, an umbrella. Luckily, Fabrizio had had the foresight to have given Anita her rain boots and a water resistant jacket, that would definitely help.

The two walked the familiar streets of the neighbourhood, Anita’s little hand in Ermal’s, shielded from the rain by the umbrella. She jumped in the puddles, giggling as the water splattered up. They made it to the Mobrici house, and Ermal rang the doorbell a bit tentatively. Would Fabrizio be upset that he was late?

Apparently he wasn’t, opening the door smiling, and opening his arms to hug Anita.

“Come in, Ermal, this weather is awful.”

Ermal did, leaving a dripping umbrella in the hallway. He then followed Fabrizio and Anita to the living room, where he accepted the mug of tea he was handed, and listened to Anita talk about everything she’d done.

“And then we coloured! It was so much fun!”

At that, Ermal got the two sheets of paper from his jacket pocket, and handed them to Anita.

“Here’s your beautiful creation, and why don’t you keep mine too? As a memory?”

Anita looked at him, cocking her head.

“No, then you have to keep mine! Otherwise you won’t have a memory! And you can’t forget me!”

“I would never,” Ermal promised, taking Anita’s page back again, putting it back in his pocket, smiling. He would not forget this day of simple, humble peace, of course not. He looked up to find Fabrizio smiling at the two of him, leaning against the door post. Ermal couldn’t help but remember another day, weeks ago now, that was so similar to this, with drawings and little girls, and Fabrizio observing him. Funny how far they’d come, and yet this was the same.

Anita ran off to introduce her own stuffed animals and dolls to Aurora, both men watching her go with matching smiles on their faces. Then Fabrizio turned to Ermal.

“How did it go?”

“Good! Very good! I’m sorry I was late bringing her back, I didn’t mean to worry you!”

“You didn’t,” Fabrizio reassured him, “I knew she was in good hands.”

After a brief silence, Ermal answered, “Thank you. But yes everything went well. She basically told all already.”

They stood in the room in more silence, until Ermal decided he might as well brave the rain again. There was nothing here for him except stolen moments like this, and he did well to remember that.

“Ermal? This made Anita really happy. Thank you,” Fabrizio called after him, when he had made it halfway down the path, rain beating on the umbrella, threatening to drown out his voice. It didn’t manage to though, and it was with an involuntary bright smile that Ermal replied over his shoulder.

“It made me happy too. Thank you. Bye, Fabrizio!”

He then made his way home again, a home that had not before felt as empty as it did now, not even when he returned after the unplanned stay at Fabrizio’s.

It was about a week later, when suddenly Ermal’s phone rang. He had not been expecting a call and had to scramble across the room to make it to where his phone was lying to charge. He didn't check the caller's name in his haste to pick up before voicemail would, and it was with a slightly breathless “pronto” that he answered.

“It's Fabrizio. Am I interrupting?”

“Fabrizio! No, no, of course not,” Ermal replied, wondering what Fabrizio could have to tell him.

“Well, I'm calling because... It's silly, I'm sorry.”

“No, I’m sure it’s not, tell me,” Ermal said, even more curious now.

“So, Anita can't sleep and nothing works, but she just said that she really liked the song you sang for her when she slept at your place... Could you maybe sing it for her?”

“Now?” Ermal managed after a brief silence, wondering if he had heard that correctly.

“Yes?” Fabrizio sounded hesitant now.

“Of course. Um, do I just start?”

“Wait, let me put you on speakerphone and tell Anita.”

Ermal listened to Fabrizio talk softly to Anita, no doubt tucking her in again. Then came a slightly louder “Ermal?”, and Ermal took that as his cue and started singing the Albanian lullaby he'd sung before. At the end of it, he waited, wondering if it had worked, if Anita could sleep now... He heard nothing for a while and briefly he wondered if Fabrizio had disconnected the call. Then, though, he heard a door click shut, and Fabrizio's voice in his ear.

“Wow, that worked, her eyes just closed, you worked magic!”

“I'm happy I could help,” Ermal replied.

“I... I didn't know you could sing so well,” Fabrizio then said, and Ermal wondered what to say to that, but before he could actually string some words together, Fabrizio continued, “I mean it. Actually, you have a really lovely voice.”

The silence stretched between them, getting heavier and heavier, until Ermal pulled himself together enough to mutter a slightly flustered and embarrassed “Thank you”.

“It’s nothing. It’s the truth. I mean…” Fabrizio answered softly, trailing off, but then taking a breath and continuing louder, “Thank _you_ , Ermal, goodnight,” and then hung up. Ermal was left staring at his phone, wondering what exactly had just happened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's birthday is coming up, and Ermal knows just the right present. If only he can gather the courage to ask...

The idea had been bouncing through his head for a little while now, and if he ever wanted to ask it, he had to do it now. They were on neutral ground, after all, in the little playground close to Fabrizio’s house. Ermal had found them there, Fabrizio and Libero and Anita, the latter two playing, while the former looked on, sitting on a bench. His slightly rumpled clothes betrayed that he hadn’t been sitting there the whole time, though, and Ermal knew him well enough by now to be sure that Fabrizio had joined his children playing for a while.

So he had to ask it now. Get his answer. Deal with the consequences. Yes.

“Can I ask you for a favour?” Ermal asked, carefully, but still suddenly hit by the doubt whether this was a good idea at all.

Fabrizio only looked up, raising his eyebrows in a question.

“So, well, I have this good friend. Marco is his name.” Ermal swallowed and wondered again how to phrase this.

“Yes, I know. You told me about him,” Fabrizio replied, no longer looking at him, but instead staring at some birds on the sidewalk a bit further down the street.

“His birthday is coming up, and he has to be in Rome for work that day, so I promised him a nice birthday, and well, I hoped…”

He faltered, now that he was actually here in front of Fabrizio, he rather got flashbacks to Fabrizio in those awful weeks, the weeks of short answers and dark looks and silent contempt. What if with this one question he’d fling himself back into time? In the past few weeks since that stay at Fabrizio’s house, he had grown close to Fabrizio, or closer at least, though he still wished it would be more. But they’d spent time together, had had conversations over some coffee, over some wine, they had watched the children playing. Once, Ermal had joined Fabrizio and his friends in a bar. He had been invited to Anita’s upcoming birthday, which was still months away, but apparently Fabrizio had been sure Ermal would be around then too. Was that still a sure thing, if Ermal made his request?

Ermal treasured those moments, the moments he could spend in the company of Fabrizio Mobrici, his friend. He looked forward to these moments, he liked adding more information to his mental folder that contained Fabrizio.

Fabrizio liked risotto. He did not like salmon. His birthday was on the ninth of April. He started playing with his hair when he was nervous or uncomfortable. He would do anything for his children (anything, except getting a real dog).

That Ermal knew already. But there was still so much to discover about this man. So much he didn’t know. Did he cry at sad movies? How did he react to his favourite football team losing? How did he like his eggs? What did he think of that one song that was always on the radio these days? Did he prefer hot or cold showers? How would his lips feel on Ermal’s? –

There was a lot still to discover, and Ermal wanted to make those discoveries. So what if he had thrown any chance he had of ever doing so out of the window by now asking too much, the wrong thing?

“Ermal?” Fabrizio’s voice pulled him back to the present, and Ermal made up his mind. No. He loved Marco, but this was not worth it.

“No, nothing, never mind, it’s not important.”

“Come on, it is, or you wouldn’t have started out like this, or had such a serious face while doing so. Tell me. Marco’s birthday?”

Ermal tried to improvise, to quickly think of something else than he had in mind, because he was _not_ going there.

“Well. Um. I was… Thinking,” he started, stammering as he went on, “I hoped you had any nice ideas of what we could do?”

Fabrizio looked at him inquisitively for a while, and Ermal tried not to squirm beneath his gaze. He had done nothing wrong. This was plausible right, him asking for help to organise a birthday for a friend? Just to talk over some ideas maybe?

“Ermal, ask me what you wanted to ask me, don’t give me feeble excuses like this.” Fabrizio sounded a little tired, disappointed maybe, as if he had expected more of Ermal, but somehow still kind as well. Gentle. Why did that make it harder, not easier?

“So, um, it’s just... Marco, he quite likes your music, and I was… hoping if you could maybe come too – as a guest, as a friend, of course, but maybe, also play a song? He would love it. So would I.”

For a second, something flickered in Fabrizio’s eyes, gone too soon for Ermal to identify it, but still his heart stopped, sure that he had really ruined it all. It had been too much to ask. The friendship that had slowly blossomed between them was gone now, poisoned by his words and his request that had been too much... Now Fabrizio’s old fears that Ermal had never been interested in him but only in his fame were confirmed. He’d only use him to get an interesting present for his friend’s birthday, it was never about Fabrizio himself…

Except, after that second, Fabrizio smiled, nodded, and said “Of course, I can do that!”

Still, something sounded slightly off, forced somehow, so Ermal tried to backtrack, take back his words, convince Fabrizio that this was absolutely not necessary. He didn’t manage, it seemed that with every word he said, Fabrizio was more determined he would come to the party.

Finally, Ermal gave in, and told Fabrizio the exact date. There Fabrizio paused.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I have other plans that evening... But it’s only later, I can make it in the afternoon. I’ll play some songs for you, I can do that.”

And back Ermal was to telling Fabrizio should not, he had other plans, Ermal understood completely, he never should have asked... It was no good, Fabrizio insisted he would come.

And that left Ermal a week later, nervously walking around his house, second guessing every decision he had made leading up to this day. What if it was just too much? Wasn’t it too much, getting a famous singer as a surprise when your friend only expected a quiet night in to celebrate his birthday?

He had not much time to dwell on it though, as he saw a taxi stop in front of his house. He checked one last time on Fabrizio, hidden in the living room with a guitar on his lap. He looked up when Ermal stuck his head around the door.

“I’m sure he will like your surprise, don’t worry! Go answer the door!”

Ermal smiled a quick thankful smile in Fabrizio’s direction, how had he again known exactly what was bothering Ermal without him even mentioning it? He couldn’t pause on that either, as he followed Fabrizio’s instruction and swung the door open to reveal his friend.

“Marco! Happy birthday! Come in!” Ermal kissed his friend’s cheeks and hugged him. He let him in, waiting patiently until he had taken off his coat and shoes.

“Come in, take a seat in the living room!” Ermal said, and he knew it was way more excitedly than the simple phrase warranted. Still, Marco complied, walking into the room, though coming to a complete stop when he saw the person already occupying the room and who had now started to play the first chords of Marco’s favourite song. Ermal had done his homework.

He entered the room after Marco, watching the scene unfold. And okay, he was mostly watching Fabrizio, because he looked so at ease and in the right place there on his couch. Like he belonged there. Like he should never leave. Ermal shook his head, now was _not_ the time for thoughts like these.

So instead he focused on Marco. Marco, who was standing where he’d stopped before, still frozen, staring unmovingly, unblinkingly, at the scene in front of him. For a second, Ermal wondered if it was all too much – what was Marco thinking? But then, a soft smile played on his lips, just a little bit, the smallest of motions, and Ermal knew that at it was all alright.

Marco listened with wide eyes, mouth slightly open in wonder. He stood there, didn’t move, hardly blinked, but Ermal could see he enjoyed this surprise. At the end of the song, he applauded, commenting on how beautiful that was, how special. Then he turned to Ermal, opening his mouth to ask questions like _how_ , but Ermal interrupted him gently and said, “I’ll explain later. Fabrizio can’t stay long, you better make the most of it.”

Marco looked back at Fabrizio and answered his question which song he would like to hear next, stammering a little. As Fabrizio began to play, Marco sank down on a nearby chair and enjoyed the music. He mouthed the words, not daring to disturb the magic by making a sound. Ermal divided his attention between looking at his old friend on the chair, happy that he seemed to like his present, checking up on his reactions, and looking at his new friend on the couch, because what a sight that was. Ermal told himself to pay attention, this was something he wanted to remember, forever, if he could.

After a few more songs, Fabrizio slowly put the guitar down and said that he really had to go. Ermal did a step forward into the room, taking charge of the situation, because Marco was still left staring at Fabrizio, all starstruck, though of course Ermal couldn’t blame him. He first shot a quick, grateful smile at Fabrizio, and then turned to Marco.

“Marco, did you bring the CD as I asked?”

Marco only nodded, and scrambled off to the hallway to get it from his overnight bag.

“Thank you so much,” Ermal told Fabrizio in the brief silence, “It means a lot to him. And to me. Really.”

Before Fabrizio could respond, Marco had returned, CD in his hand, standing a bit lost in the doorway, as if he wasn’t sure what would happen next.

“Here, I’ll sign it,” Fabrizio said, reaching out his hand. Marco handed the album over with wide eyes.

“Thank you!” he managed when Fabrizio gave it back to him.

“No, thank _you_ ,” Fabrizio answered, “For buying it at all in that whole mess. I appreciate it. Really. I’ll leave you two now. Happy birthday! Ermal, I’ll see you around.”

With that, Fabrizio left, taking his guitar with him.

As soon as he heard the front door close, Marco sank back down on the chair again, staring at the CD in his hand. Finally, he looked up at Ermal.

“Wow... That was absolutely the most amazing birthday present! Thank you!”

Ermal just smiled at him, walked over and tugged his friend up by his arms to pull him into a hug.

“You’re welcome, really. I promised you a nice birthday, so far from Anna and all that, so yes. I’m happy you liked the surprise!”

He let Marco go and then went to the kitchen to grab two glasses and some wine. He returned to the living room to find Marco still staring at his CD, lightly tracing the signature and rereading the birthday wishes Fabrizio had scribbled there.

With a fond smile, Ermal sat down on the couch, filled the glasses and slid on over across the table to Marco. He raised his own, waited until Marco had done the same and toasted. After having taken a sip, Marco put down the album, put down the glass, and then looked at Ermal, very intently.

“Ermal. How the _fuck_ did you manage this?”

Ermal toyed with his glass a little, taking a deep breath, and then another, because he didn’t quite know where to start explaining this. He knew he should have told Marco before, months ago, or at least way earlier than only now. Regardless of his fame, Fabrizio had been such an important part of his life this past time, and Ermal knew he should have told his best friend about it. He would have been happy Ermal had found a new friend in the neighbourhood, would have wanted to hear the fun stuff Libero and Anita were up to. He would definitely have wanted to know about Ermal’s crush, he knew Marco would always be someone to confide in, about anything, he would not judge, he would just let Ermal ramble on, state all his fears and concerns, no matter how inconsequent they might seem to be. And Ermal knew Marco would not appreciate it knowing he had not been trusted with this knowledge.

And why not? Because at first, Ermal didn’t know who Fabrizio was. Then when he did, it was clear that there was nothing to tell, though of course he could have talked to Marco about how awful it felt that he was ignored and pushed aside by this man. He didn’t even have to mention him by name, but telling something was better than the absolute silence he’d given Marco on this front. But he hadn’t, had just stayed silent, worked through it alone rather than involving his friend. And it had continued like that, when things had changed between him and Fabrizio, Ermal couldn’t tell Marco about it because by then it was too late to explain everything…

Of course, that had still been better than now. Now it really was too late. And he knew it. And he felt bad about it. But here he was, owing Marco some explanations on how he suddenly got this singer in his living room on command.

“Ermal?”

“Yes. I’ll explain, it’s just… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this earlier, okay? I know I should have.”

“Ermal, what’s going on? What didn’t you tell me? Have you run off and eloped with him? Didn’t invite me to the wedding? Didn’t make me godfather of your first born? Come on, Ermal, don’t look so serious, it’s fine. I’m just curious.”

He knew Marco was just joking, but somehow this hit a little too close to home. Those scenarios Marco mentioned were ridiculous, of course they were, and of course Ermal hadn’t imagined a wedding or a baby, god no, why would he, but still, he couldn’t deny that part of him wanted that feeling of _family_ , together with Fabrizio, together with Libero and Anita. But now was not the time to dwell on this, on these dreams that were exactly that, dreams, and would never come true. Now was the time to focus on Marco, on explanations, and on making sure he kept this friendship.

“So. Actually Fabrizio moved into a house on my mail round,” Ermal started, ignoring how Marco’s eyebrows went up slightly at that first name only mention, and he continued. “We met and I felt we somehow clicked – or at least, I thought so, but it was in the middle of that plagiarism mess, you know?”

Marco nodded, and Ermal gave a recap of all that had happened. He wasn’t trying to make it short, Marco deserved to hear the details, better late than never, so he spent some time on retelling all the small things and how they had made him feel… The times he had helped Libero and Anita, the reactions he’d gotten… The babysitting, the talk he had Fabrizio had had, that first proper talk, with the apology and the start of their friendship. Then the weekend where he had been locked out and all that had happened then. Ermal even told Marco about his break down, not the details, those were part of a whole different story, but at least Fabrizio’s part in calming him down again. He explained all that had happened – though no, not _all_ , he kept his feelings to himself, those useless feelings that he should get over anyway, the sooner the better – and tried to explain as well why he hadn’t told Marco before.

Throughout the whole story, Marco hadn’t said much. Just some comments to keep Ermal going, and once he had stopped him to top up their wine. Finally, Ermal fell silent, and finally, Marco started speaking instead.

“Listen, Ermal, of course I would have liked to have known all this a bit earlier, but your reasons, I understand them. I’m not mad at you for not telling me, why are you so afraid of that?”

It was a question Ermal decided to treat as a rhetorical one, and he sipped his wine until Marco continued.

“Really, if anything I’m happy you have made a new friend, especially if it results in me getting gifts like this,” he said, with a nod at the CD that was still on the table. “No, all jokes aside, I’m glad for you, I saw him just a short time, but he seems really nice.”

“He is,” Ermal agreed, the relief in his mind at Marco’s reaction replaced by thoughts on how _nice_ Fabrizio actually was. How kind he was, ready to help in any situation, be it for birthday presents or in cases when people were stupid enough to lock themselves out. How trusting he was, with his own story or with his children. How caring he was, even when he found someone he didn’t know all that well sitting at his piano, crying… How good he looked, in any situation, really. Yes, Fabrizio was a lot of things, and ‘nice’ summed it up quite well.

Ermal sighed, tipped his glass for another sip of wine, he could really use just a little bit more wine right now, but found his glass empty. He put it down on the table again, and then looked at Marco, who had his eyes on him and a rather intense expression on his face. Ermal swallowed a bit heavily, because that expression, he wasn’t quite sure he liked it.

“You were quite lost in thoughts there, weren’t you?” he said only, though the smirk starting on his lips revealed that he wasn’t done yet, and now Ermal was very certain that he would not like what was to follow.

“Hmm,” he answered only, hoping something would happen to intervene and stop Marco right here.

“Ermal?” Marco said, only to be very carefully ignored. It didn’t matter to him though, because he continued undeterred, “Is there maybe something else you’d like to tell me?”

“No.” Ermal replied, staring at the ceiling and wishing he was somewhere else.

“Ermal? Fabrizio, you _like_ him?” Marco really didn’t know how to leave it alone, did he?

“No, I don’t.”

“You don’t like him?” Marco now clarified, though it was clear he didn’t believe Ermal. At all.

“No.”

“Ermal.”

“Okay, maybe I do like him. A little,” Ermal finally admitted, the combined weight of the silence, Marco’s gaze on him, and the falsehood on his lips becoming too much to bear.

“A little?”

“Can you please stop repeating me?”

“No, I’m having fun,” Marco replied, and Ermal could hear the laugh hidden in his voice. He wasn’t amused, however, and grumbled, “Well, I’m not.”

Still, Marco was not put off by that. “So you like him? Only a little?”

“Maybe.”

Marco looked at him with a fond smile on his face. Ermal wished he could say that he looked like an idiot, but he didn’t, really, and he knew that Marco would see it for the feeble distraction attempt it would be, and just go on as if Ermal hadn’t said anything. He might as well save himself the trouble.

“You and Fabrizio Moro. I can’t believe it!”

“Well, that’s good, because there is no ‘and’, there is nothing linking us together, there is no ‘us’ at all,” Ermal said, and if he sounded a bit bitter, he was ignoring that.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yes, I walked up to him and said ‘Hey, I let my emotions spin a bit out of control and I’ve accidentally fallen in love with you, fancy to get a coffee with me?’ - No Marco, of course I didn’t fucking talk to him, it would ruin everything.”

A silence stretched out, a silence Ermal had not expected, not with Marco, and definitely not right now with that playful mood he’d been in. He’d take every chance he got to make fun of Ermal. So why didn’t he now? Ermal looked up and met Marco’s eyes, where he found a rather serious expression and a hint of surprise. The unexpected sight cleared Ermal’s head enough to try and work out what had caused that reaction.

Then it hit him. “Fallen in love” is what he had said. It wasn’t something he had been consciously aware of before, but now that it was here, put into words like this, he realized it was the only description that fit. Fuck. He knew he had fallen hard, but those two little words “in love” made such a difference. This whole thing, whatever it was, had turned from something unexpected, something slightly inconvenient into something scary and definite.

“Oh, Ermal” Marco whispered, all humour gone from his voice now as he took in the change in Ermal, the slight fear in his eyes, the silent despair, the uncertainty, the insecurity that had found him now.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know...”

“Neither did I,” Ermal replied only, sinking his head down to his hands. He could hear Marco moving and then felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. What was he going to do now? Whatever was he going to _do_? Nothing had changed, yet everything had, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

“Maybe all is not lost?”

“Marco, what chance do I have?”

“Maybe more than you think.”

“No, he just sees me as a friend, and even that is a miracle. Besides, he probably doesn’t even like men...”

“There’s been rumours...”

“Don’t, Marco, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like me, not like that, and I have to just get over it, just be glad that he wants to be my friend. It’s more than I one day expected to have...”

The two sat in silence for a while, until Ermal looked up.

“Come on, it’s your birthday. Let’s do something fun. We can go out for dinner?”

Marco nodded and got up, pulling Ermal into a hug.

“Somehow, everything will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

Ermal wasn’t, not quite, but he appreciated Marco’s support. He managed a weak smile and then they made their way to the city, to one of their favourite restaurants, to properly celebrate Marco’s birthday, as Ermal had planned in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter and I'd be so grateful if you left a comment!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal is looking forward to a calm evening at home, and he definitely doesn't expect to find a crying boy on his doorstep. What is going on, and can he help?

Ermal had just made it home after his mail round, and was tidying some things in the kitchen, while he was trying to decide what to do with the rest of his day. He could get some groceries, but if he was honest, he didn’t feel like going out again. It could wait until tomorrow. What he could also do was make some decisions on that holiday he’d been planning. So far, he had an idea of where he wanted to go, but it was getting time to really book some hotels and flights, and pin himself down on those ideas.

Just as he was booting up his laptop, however, the doorbell rang. Sighing, Ermal got up. Really, if this was one of those annoying sales persons trying to scam him into buying something he did not need…

It wasn’t. Because when Ermal opened the door, he was looking in the faces of… Mr Borsato and Libero? The latter seemed to have some streaks of now mostly dried tears on his cheeks. Ermal wanted to ask them why they were there, but his mind was jumping to some worst-case scenarios, and his voice didn’t quite work.

“Hi Ermal. This boy came to me, he was looking for you,” Mr Borsato said, not explaining _anything_.

“Libero? What’s wrong? Come in, both of you,” Ermal said, when finally he could use his voice again. Only, Mr Borsato said he had to leave, so a few minutes later it was only Libero who was sitting next to Ermal on his couch, hands wrapped around a glass of water.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where you lived, but I remembered the way to Mr Borsato when you took Anita and me.”

“That’s okay, you’re always welcome here, and also Mr Borsato will always help you. It’s good that you came here,” Ermal tried to reassure Libero, and continued, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Libero took a deep breath, slightly shakily, Ermal noticed.

“It’s papa… Or no, it’s me… I did something stupid…”

Erml looked at the boy sitting on his couch, his bottom lip quivering just a little. People could keep telling Ermal that he was good with children, but he still didn’t quite know what to do now. This wasn’t just looking after a child for a few hours, entertaining them and trying to make sure they had a good time, this was a totally different situation, one with maybe not such an easy solution.

Or maybe, he did know what to do, the most important thing right now was to comfort Libero. So Ermal put a hand lightly on the boy’s back.

“It will be okay, Libero, I will help you, and everything will be okay.” Ermal didn’t want to make empty promises, but he also couldn’t imagine Libero having done anything that was absolutely unfixable.

He had hoped his words would calm down Libero, reassure him enough so he could tell the story but it didn’t quite happen like that. Because now, Libero’s lip had started to quiver more, even despite the teeth digging into it in an attempt to make it stop. Ermal’s heart clenched at the sight, especially when the first silent tears started rolling down Libero’s cheeks. He seemed to curl in on himself a little, leaning towards Ermal a tiny bit more. Slowly, Ermal wrapped his arms around Libero, not sure if he could, but he had to do _something_ , especially when Libero no doubt felt so alone right now, convinced he had messed up everything.

They sat on the couch, slightly rocking back and forth, Libero with his face hidden in Ermal’s chest, soaking his shirt with tears. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered right now was that Libero eventually felt better. And what also mattered now, at least it did to Ermal, was that Libero trusted him enough to show himself so vulnerable, trusted him to have to solutions, trusted him to help. Finally, Libero calmed down a little, and brushed his hands over his eyes until Ermal handed him a tissue from the packet on the coffee table.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked Libero softly, and when the boy nodded, he added, “Just start at the beginning, we have all the time in the world – wait, one question. Does papa know where you are?”

Libero looked down, hiding his face.

“I said I was going to play outside with friends,” he whispered.

Ermal sighed. That wasn’t ideal, Libero having lied to Fabrizio about where he was, but for now it would do. At least now, Fabrizio wasn’t worried, and he probably would be if Ermal would suddenly tell him Libero was not with friends at all but at his home, crying, crying because of something that happened with Fabrizio. He also realized that now wasn’t the time to tell Libero off for lying, he was a smart boy and he knew very well it wasn’t right to do so. So if he had, he had a reason for that, and that was more important now.

“That’s okay for now. Don’t worry. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Ermal asked again, his hand on Libero’s shoulder in what he hoped was a supportive way.

“Next week, we have this school trip,” Libero began, staring out of the window, but still leaning into Ermal’s touch. “And last week, my teacher asked us if some of our parents could come along to help… And I said papa would come…”

“But?” Ermal asked softly, when Libero fell silent.

“I _knew_ that he probably couldn’t, but I just wanted him to go with us – with me, I wanted that so badly. So I said he would come.”

“But he said no?”

“I didn’t ask. I wanted to ask, but then I overheard him on the phone saying that he’s scheduled for an interview, and it’s on the same day. And he sounded so happy about it… I didn’t want to ask and make him choose, because I know he would feel bad either way.”

Ermal could imagine that, Fabrizio was still trying to put the pieces back together after the nightmare that he’d been through, where everything fell apart. It was no doubt a good sign that he had been invited for interviews again. And Ermal could see that Libero was right, Fabrizio would feel bad about accepting the interview, about having to say no to Libero… Before he could get lost in these thoughts, Libero continued.

“So I told my teacher today that papa can’t go, that something came up, but she got really annoyed and she told me that I should find someone else who can help, because she already made all the groups and everything… And I just don’t know what to do, who to ask, and I can’t tell papa…”

At the end of this speech, Libero started crying again, just a little as he tried to suppress it, but failed at that. Ermal stroked over Libero’s hair.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked, having some idea of what he could maybe do, but he needed to be more sure, if he would be welcome.

Libero was quiet for a bit the sound of his irregular breathing filling the room. Then he shrugged, looked away, and mumbled, “No, no, you can’t do anything either, you also…” He trailed off, not finishing that thought out loud.

“Libero,” Ermal said softly, but without hesitating, then waiting until he had the boy’s attention. “If you want to, I can come with you. Would you like that?”

Libero looked at him, his eyes wide.

“But you have to work too.”

“I can get a day off if I ask, I’m sure I can. Would you like me to come with you on the school trip?”

Libero only nodded, eyes possibly even wider. Finally, he found his voice.

“Can you? Really? Do you… do you want to?”

“Of course I do. Come on, don’t cry, everything will be alright!”

Once more, Libero leaned in, and this time Ermal hugged him without reservations. After a while, he deemed it okay to let him go again, and yes, he was met with a smile, a shaky one, but a smile nonetheless.

“Do you know your teacher’s phone number?” Ermal asked then, ready to move on to the practical details to make this happen.

Libero shook his head. “No, but could you come after school tomorrow? Please?”

“I’ll be there,” Ermal promised, and changed the topic to talk about some lighter things so Libero could compose himself before going home. That he did about half an hour later, but not with another hug, and a shyly whispered question.

“Will you please not tell papa?”

Ermal promised that he wouldn’t, of course he wouldn’t, and then watched Libero run home, with feelings in his chest he did not necessarily want to dwell on too much right now.

The next day, Ermal met with Libero’s teacher, and got an idea of what the plan was. He would be responsible for a group of six children, including Libero, and accompany them on their interactive tour of a large museum. It didn’t sound too complicated, and Ermal found himself looking forward to this school trip. He’d never done anything like it, but had good faith that everything would be alright.

And it was, the time passing quickly, the children entertained and cooperative, listening to him when he told them to stay close or be careful, but energetic and happy. Yes, everything was alright. At least, until they arrived back at the schoolgrounds, ready to go home.

Ermal was walking next to Libero, about to start the way home, accompanying the boy, when suddenly Libero tugged his sleeve, making him stop.

“Papa is here!” he said, and Ermal looked at the direction he was facing. There, a familiar head of messy hair was indeed visible. And he had spotted Libero too.

“Libero!”

At Fabrizio’s call, Libero sighed once, deeply, and the expression on his face was resigned somehow, as if he’d come to the conclusion that he could change nothing about this outcome. Fabrizio would know what he’d done and Libero would accept the consequences. He then turned to go, walk towards Fabrizio and face his fate, but now it was Ermal who stopped him.

“Wait, Libero. I’ll come with you.”

Libero shot him a thankful look, and together they approached Fabrizio. Ermal knew Libero didn’t have to fear Fabrizio, and what he’d done was not so very serious, at least not in Ermal’s opinion, but if he could make the boy feel a little better by going up to his father not alone, then that was what he’d do.

“Ermal?” Fabrizio asked, when they came closer, eyes wide in surprise, “What are you doing here?”

“I accompanied Libero’s class on their school trip,” Ermal explained, completely unapologetically.

“You...” Fabrizio echoed, but trailed off as he caught sight of Libero’s face. Ermal followed his gaze and his heart clenched a little when he saw the guilt on Libero’s face. It looked like he was trying very hard not to cry. Ermal couldn’t help it, he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder in silent support. Libero shouldn’t feel this awful, when all he had done was act with the best intentions. Really, what he’d done wasn’t so very bad, and Ermal was sure Fabrizio would realize that too.

And he did. Of course he did.

“I’ve got the car here, let’s go home,”  he said softly, and then added, with a look at Ermal’s hand still resting on Libero’s shoulder, “You too, Ermal. Come on.”

Ermal and Libero followed Fabrizio to the car, Ermal taking the front passenger seat. He could feel Fabrizio’s gaze on him, but he was not meeting it. He wasn’t totally sure what was happening. of course he was going to be here for Libero if it helped the boy, and if Fabrizio let him. But once more, he was being sucked into the intimate dealings of this family, and he  _knew_ he’d have to work through some feelings, wishes, and foolish hopes that would be called up, later, when he was alone again.

Luckily, the car ride was a short one. Both Libero and Ermal followed Fabrizio into the house after he’d unlocked the door. Ermal stood a bit awkwardly in the hallway, not sure what to do next, not knowing what would happen. Libero took off his shoes and coat, and then went to the living room and curled up on the couch.

“You go too, I’ll be there in a minute,” Fabrizio told Ermal, while he disappeared into the kitchen. 

Silently, Ermal did as he was told, taking a seat on the chair that stood at an angle to the couch next to where Libero was, and waited. As he had promised, Fabrizio came into the room a few minutes later, carrying three mugs, and handed them out to Libero and Ermal. 

Libero wrapped his hands around the mug in a way that suggested this was an expected occurrence. Ermal, on the other hand, took his mug, and was surprised to find it warm, but not hot. He took a careful sip, and tasted sweetened milk with a hint of cinnamon, that went down his throat to spread a surprisingly nice and comforting feeling in his chest. He looked up, to see Fabrizio, who had taken a seat next to Libero, softly smiling at him.

Ermal wanted to ask what it was that he was drinking, because this was something he wanted to have again, if only to feel better on a bad day. Was this something Fabrizio always made when the children were upset? But he also knew that these details were not so very important right now. This was about Libero. 

Realizing he had been rather staring at Fabrizio while lost in thought, Ermal blinked and tore his eyes away, to look at Libero again. He seemed to have relaxed a little, while sipping his drink. Fabrizio seemed to have noticed the same, because he put a gentle hand on Libero’s knee until the boy looked at him.

“Would you like to tell me what is bothering you?” he asked.

Libero swallowed heavily, but nodded slowly.

“I asked Ermal to help with the school trip,” he admitted finally, staring at his mug.

“Yes,” Fabrizio said, “It’s nice that he wanted to help with that. You never told me that you asked him.” 

There the room was quiet for a bit, Fabrizio patiently waiting for an answer, Ermal looking on, it wasn’t his place to interrupt this. Finally, Libero spoke again, though he fell silent soon after.

“I couldn’t...” He bit his lip, clearly trying to stop the tears that were gathering in his eyes from falling.

He didn’t continue, and Ermal couldn’t watch it any longer. He was going to do something, he  _had_ to do something. So, ignoring all that Fabrizio might think, he slid off his chair, and kneeled on the floor in front of Libero, capturing his lowered gaze.

“Libero? Shall I tell papa what happened?” he asked softly.

The boy looked at him, watery eyes wide. He thought for a minute, and then nodded shyly. Ermal nodded back, smiling.

“Can- can I go upstairs?” Libero asked, and Ermal looked at Fabrizio. He could do a lot to help here, but he couldn’t make that decision.

“Of course,” Fabrizio only said, and ran his hand over Libero’s hair as he scrambled up from the couch to disappear up the stairs.

That left the two men in the room, Ermal having gotten back into his chair, looking at each other. Ermal knew Fabrizio was waiting for an explanation, something to make him understand why Libero was acting like he was. Ermal cleared his throat, and started.

“So, last week, Libero came to me, at my house, and he was... quite upset.” 

Fabrizio only nodded, and slowly, Ermal continued. He explained how Libero had wanted Fabrizio to come on the trip, but that he had the interview at the same day, and that Libero didn’t want to make him choose. That the teacher had asked him to find someone else. How he hadn’t known what to do, how he had come to Ermal for help, how Ermal had offered to come along.

He wasn’t meeting Fabrizio’s eyes as he told all that. He didn’t know if he was ready for all the emotions he might see there. He could only guess, but how would it feel to hear that your son so badly wanted you to come on a school trip, but knew you didn’t have time? Who then didn’t even want to ask the question, because he didn’t want to make you choose between him and your career, because he also knew how hard that choice was for you right now. Who then had this problem, but didn’t come to you for help...

“And well, you wouldn’t have known about this problem if you hadn’t picked him up... I guess... I should apologize for my role in this, maybe I should have encouraged Libero to go to you - no, scratch that, I definitely should have encouraged him to do exactly that - but there was this easy solution that wasn’t supposed to hurt any of you...”

Ermal trailed off, realizing he shouldn’t make this about him, not now. He could apologize later, explain himself later, now he had to explain Libero’s thoughts, so Fabrizio understood and could go comfort his son, who needed him most right now.

So he trailed off, and finally looked at Fabrizio in the silence, waiting for his reaction. He couldn’t quite decipher the look in his eyes, but at least Fabrizio didn’t seem too upset - not that Ermal had expected that, really, he had never expected him to be angry, though maybe sad, but it was still reassuring to see him this calm and composed.

“So if I understand this correctly, Libero is so worried that I would be - what? Angry? Disappointed? - because he didn’t tell me about this problem, which he only had because he didn’t want to make me choose between him and the interview?”

Ermal nodded. “That sounds about right.” 

At that, Fabrizio got up.

“Okay, thank you for telling me, for explaining this. I’ll go talk with Libero now, but please stay. It won’t take too long.”

Once more, Ermal nodded, and watched Fabrizio’s retreating back, making his way towards the hallway. He sat there, trying to gather his thoughts, his feelings. It was so easy right now, to allow the lines between dreams and reality to blur. He had been able to keep his feelings under control this past time, those newly realized feelings - or at least the depth of them, and he had been proud of himself for that.

But now, here, sitting in that living room again, so close, emotionally as well as physically, to both Libero and Fabrizio, he realized again how much he wanted exactly, precisely  _this_.

Here it was, so close, and yet so, so far out of reach. If there was just a chance to be here, to stay here, to be a part of this family, to be together with Fabrizio, to never leave, but without the risk of ruining  _everything_  they had now.... He would take it in a heartbeat.

But it wouldn’t be, he knew that, and he also knew he would rather have this little than nothing at all. For a few brief seconds he tried to imagine life without Anita, without Libero, without Fabrizio in it... He didn’t like those thoughts, and it felt so... empty. No. He would keep things as they were, and be happy.

He also knew that he really should take his mind off this topic, compose himself, and do so before Fabrizio came back downstairs. Ermal looked around the room and his eye fell on those three empty mugs. Why not clean those? At least it would give him something to do.

he got up, taking the mugs to the kitchen sink, very carefully avoiding all thoughts that wanted to whisper that yes, this was  _exactly_  what he meant when he said that this was what he wanted. Before he could do any more than put the mugs down, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs again, followed a bit later by a called out “Ermal?”.

“Here!” he answered, and attempted a slightly shaky smile at Fabrizio, who appeared around the kitchen door.

“Oh, here you are, I was afraid you’d left!”

“No, no, of course not, I said I’d stay.” 

At those words, Fabrizio flashed him a bright smile, and it took Ermal a heartbeat or three before he could say or do anything else but  _look_. Finally he had gathered enough brain power to ask a very important question.

“How is Libero?”

Fabrizio sighed, and moved to lean against the counter next to Ermal.

“We talked. I explained that I’m not angry, not upset, not anything. Well, except of course that I appreciate his thoughtfulness - even if he should know it’s not his job to protect  _me_ , and that he should know that he will always be more important than my work, no matter how happy I was about the interview.”

Ermal smiled, that sounded like a good conclusion. “He’s a sweet boy, and smart. I’m sure he knows that.”

“Does he?” Fabrizio muttered, suddenly sounding so very insecure. Ermal turned to him, just a little, wondering where this all of a sudden came from.

“Fabrizio, of course he knows he’s important to you, don’t doubt that. You’re doing a great job!”

Fabrizio didn’t seem convinced yet, so Ermal continued.

“When he came to me, he was upset about not wanting to make you choose. and listen, his exact words were that you would feel bad either way if you had to, and he didn’t want to be the cause of that. He was never afraid that you would choose the interview over him without a second thought, it really wasn’t like that.”

Finally, Fabrizio seemed reassured, looking at Ermal with a grateful smile. He nudged Ermal’s shoulder with his own and said, staring straight ahead now, “Thank you, you really were a big help. Last week, but also today.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Ermal said, sincerely.

“He really trusts you, you know, if he came to you with this,” Fabrizio said.

“I-” Ermal started, but stopped, because what he wanted to say was “I’m glad”, but he had just said that, and it was rather an empty statement, especially with all the thoughts swirling through his head right now. This boy, that he hadn’t known that long, really, trusted him enough to come to him with his problems, even when he didn’t see an immediate solution in doing so, trusting Ermal would be able to help him. This boy had, just today, trusted him to tell his story fairly, to make Fabrizio understand. What Fabrizio said was true, Libero really trusted him, and here Libero’s character didn’t matter, whether he was quick to trust other’s or not, because that did not change the  _depth_ of it that was necessary to come to him like this. Ermal knew a thing or two about trust, and this was something he had never expected to get. It made him rather speechless, if he was honest, the depth of the emotion that it made him feel. So “I’m glad” wouldn’t tell Fabrizio that, wouldn’t tell him how touched Ermal was, how this moved him. And yet, it was somehow important that he knew. So after a deep breath, Ermal tried again.

“It makes me very happy that he does. Truly.  _You_ can understand why...” he stopped there, hoping Fabrizio did indeed understand him, and luckily, Ermal saw him nod from the corner of his eye. Still, Ermal wanted to say more, but couldn’t, he just couldn’t find the words.

“I do,” Fabrizio said, turning to him, and putting a warm hand briefly on Ermal’s shoulder, “I understand. But you should know that not everyone would do like you. I’m happy that Libero doesn’t yet have to learn a lesson that trust can be awfully misplaced. Thank you for all you’re doing. Thank you for being you.”

Ermal returned the smile that was sent his way, but couldn’t reply. He was too busy trying to keep his emotions under control. Luckily, he knew that Fabrizio would understand that too.

And indeed, Fabrizio gave him time to compose himself, resettling against the counter, leaning his arms behind him, behind Ermal. Ermal knew it was dangerous, so dangerous, but he couldn’t help but shuffle around a little bit, and lean into that arm and the body it was attached to just a little. Surely, Fabrizio would not notice, and Ermal couldn’t deny himself this, this tiny bit of almost-contact, not after the words he had just heard, spoken by Fabrizio.

Even though he wanted nothing more than stay there, focused only on the other man next to him, he knew he had to distract Fabrizio from doing the same.

“So, what I um... What I said before, I’m sorry that I didn’t ask Libero to go to you and tell you in the first place. I didn’t mean to go behind your back like this.”

“Ermal, you didn’t. What you did is help Libero in the most straightforward way possible. He asked you not to tell me, right? This is just another sign of that trust that you didn’t break. And I’ve said this before, but I know that with you the children are in good hands. So even if neither you nor Libero had explained this, I would know that everything was alright, because you were there. Not only Libero trusts you, okay? I do too. And like Libero, with you I know that it’s not a misplaced trust. I trust you, Ermal.”

At the end of his words, Fabrizio looked at him, and Ermal looked back, frozen in the moment, noticing only how Fabrizio’s arm was still behind him, and how Fabrizio’s face was closer than he thought it’d be. He knew he shouldn’t do anything stupid, he knew kissing Fabrizio was something very stupid, and he knew that kissing Fabrizio would ruin everything. But right now, it just seemed like the perfect thing to do, the only thing that made sense...

Ermal stood, and stared, torn between the voices in his head telling him to just do it and those telling him to stop, to think, to go home, to not risk it all. Suddenly, however, his trance was broken by Fabrizio clearing his throat and moving towards the fridge.

“Dinner! I mean, I should start on dinner. - Wait, I mean, Ermal, would you like to stay for dinner?”

It took a few breaths, shaky breaths pretending to be normal, before Ermal could answer. 

“That’s kind, but no, I can’t tonight.” He wouldn’t survive more of this, tonight, he needed to go home and sort his thoughts, before he would actually ruin it all for real.

Fabrizio nodded, a heartbeat too late, but Ermal couldn’t read his expression. Was he happy that Ermal hadn’t accepted that situation so he had time for his family without others around? Did he wish Ermal would have accepted, maybe as a way to thank him for his help with Libero?

“I - if the offer still stands, I could come tomorrow?” Ermal asked, even before he finished wondering if this was a good idea at all, but at the same time those voices from before were telling him how good he was doing, trying to spend more time with Fabrizio. Luckily, it seemed to be alright, as Fabrizio briefly turned to him with a smile.

“That’s great, tomorrow Anita will be back! She’ll like that. Oh, Romina is coming too, so you can bring a- a friend, if you want?”

“I don’t want to intrude...” Ermal muttered, though he wanted to accept immediately, and he was sure that he had a friend who would be very happy to receive this invitation - even if it would make Ermal’s life hell for the coming weeks.

“You wouldn’t! Really, it’s just Romina, you’d be very welcome!”

“Okay, then tomorrow night it is. See you then, Fabrizio!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a new chapter before Christmas, and a long one too :) I hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know your thoughts in a comment, it would absolutely make my day!!
> 
> ~~~
> 
> And if you're interested in that drink that Fabrizio made, but can't find yourself a Fabrizio to make it for you, here's the recipe:  
> Take a mug (your favourite for extra comfort), and put in some honey and a bit of cinnamon. Than fill it about half way with boiling water and top it up with milk. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for dinner at Fabrizio's place. It's time to meet Romina. And it's time to invite a friend to come along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that traveling nine hours by train to get home for Christmas is useful for some things, because here's a new chapter. Another little Christmas present for you :) I hope you enjoy it, and it would be great if you could give me a little present in the form of a comment <3

Finally, when Ermal opened his eyes again after stubbornly having closed them for what felt like hours, for what _were_ hours, the clock showed a time of seven in the morning, a reasonable time to get up. At least, reasonable if you just wanted the night to be over with, and that was exactly what he wanted, because it had been the worst one in a long while.

When Ermal had made it home last night, his thoughts were spinning, _spinning_. He tried to make sense of them, he really tried, but the night clearly showed him he hadn’t. He had lain on his back, staring at the ceiling, lost in the same thoughts, the _what if_ s, the questions what exactly had happened. Not with Libero – that was clear, that was all good, he had acted like he thought he had to and Fabrizio had agreed. He was glad that was all solved, that Fabrizio knew about it all and that the little boy felt better.

No, what he kept wondering about was that moment after, with Fabrizio, in the kitchen. When he had almost risked everything, just because he wanted more than all that was already offered to him. He already had a place so close to that family, it should be enough, it had to be enough. But no, instead he still wanted _more_ , and how could he be so selfish? It had been a good thing that Fabrizio had so tactfully broken the moment, but Ermal wondered if he’d noticed. He hoped he hadn’t, but he wasn’t sure. He would know at the dinner, he had to wait and see how Fabrizio would react to him then… Ermal hoped he hadn’t made everything uncomfortable already, because if that happened, if their friendship started to crumble like that, he might as well have thrown everything into the wind, because if he would lose Fabrizio now, at least then he would have had the knowledge of what that forbidden kiss would be like, if only for a split second before Fabrizio pushed him away in disgust.

His thoughts kept going in the same circles, over and over again. Sometimes though, they took a sub track. Then he lingered on those feelings that he had on being such a trusted figure in this family, trusted by Fabrizio, by Libero, by Anita. He wondered how he deserved that, what he had ever done to get all this (and _still_ he wasn’t content…). He thought back on the moments of the day when it had been so easy to imagine that his place was right there, on that couch, or with Libero in his arms, or next to Fabrizio discussing the children, like they were a little bit _his_ too. It was dangerous to dwell on this, he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. The images were too good, too sweet to pass up on. Not often had he let himself imagine having a family of his own, but now he had had a short taste of what it might be like, and he _wanted_ that.

The same things kept his mind occupied when he finally sank into an unrestful sleep, as was marked by the jumpy dreams he had. There hadn’t been a proper story, instead he saw scenes, scenes of what had been, what could have been, what could absolutely never be… Moments replaying, slightly different outcomes… Sitting on a couch, an arm swung around his shoulders, but then no awkwardness, but leaning in to touches, _touching_ Fabrizio, Fabrizio touching him… Fabrizio on his own couch, playing his guitar, but now Marco wasn’t there at all, it was just Ermal who the songs were for. Then longer back in time again, Ermal as a baby sitter, but this time he didn’t flee the house when Fabrizio returned. Instead, the talk they had weeks later in reality, happened then, and _more_ , and Ermal would make it home only late that night. He dreamt of some nights where he didn’t make it home at all, staying at Fabrizio’s, staying _with_ Fabrizio…

After every little dream like that he would wake up, and the empty dark room around him showed him exactly what he didn’t have, what he would never have. And the night had continued like that, until, at a bit after four, he couldn’t find any semblance of sleep again, and just lay there, eyes closed, pretending nothing was wrong at all. But now it was finally a reasonable time to get up, and Ermal did, not ready at all to face the day, but glad that at least the night was over.

He walked over to his closet, and as he stared at the piles of fabric, he wondered what he was going to wear today. Or rather, he wondered what he was going to wear _tonight_. The dinner. He looked at the shirts one by one, contemplating and subsequently dismissing each. He would look too shabby, too formal, too much like he was trying to hard – he _was_ trying too hard, trying too hard to play it cool, and it was backfiring into awkwardness. Awkwardness, already, and he hadn’t even made it out of his bedroom yet.

So Ermal decided to leave this choice for future him to deal with, and first went downstairs to get some coffee in yesterday’s clothes, they would do for now. At breakfast, he sipped his coffee and tried to focus his thoughts, to get out of the endless spirals he had been stuck in all night. He had to get on with his day, take his mind of the evening, he could change nothing, and he had the whole day to worry.

He puttered around the house, tidying a little here, cleaning a little there, watching the minutes creep by until he could go to work. Maybe that could occupy his mind enough, because it still wasn’t quite functioning as he hoped it might, though better than it had been. Finally, he found himself facing his closet again, but still, an easy decision eluded him.

He was roused from his thoughts by his phone ringing, but smiled when he saw the caller ID. Maybe here was a solution to his problems.

“Marco! Just the person I needed to talk to!” he greeted when picking up.

“You sound…” Marco started, but apparently couldn’t find the right word to conclude that thought.

“Tired?” Ermal supplied.

“No, I was more thinking hysterical, but it’s a bit too strong maybe. Still, you sound pretty close to it though.”

“Hysterical?!” Ermal echoed, and okay, that didn’t quite sound that calm and rational.

“Did something happen?”

Ermal was quiet for a bit, because yes, something happened, but also nothing happened, and he wasn’t sure what the bigger problem was, nor what he should start explaining.

“I almost kissed him,” he blurted out, finally, as that was possibly the most concrete thing in his mind right now. And it also captured both the things that did happen and the things that did not.

“You – Fabrizio?”

Ermal was quiet, and that was answer enough for Marco, who knew him well, and who could interpret even his silences.

“How almost is _almost_?” Marco now asked carefully.

“I stared at him, contemplating the thought until he turned away,” Ermal mumbled in reply, “But now I can’t stop thinking about it, and I have to, cause I’ll see him again tonight.”

“You’ll see him again?”

“He invited me for dinner.”

Then also Marco was quiet, and Ermal knew _him_ well too, and heard the question he didn’t ask.

“Not like that, Marco.”

“Well, at least, he either didn’t notice, or he didn’t care. I’m sure it will be okay, Erm. Don’t worry too much.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Ermal sighed.

After a brief silence, Marco picked up the thread of conversation again.

“So there will be others too, tonight?”

“Yes, his sister. And he said I could bring someone.”

“Then there’s enough people to distract you a little. It will all be okay, Ermal.”

“Yes…” Ermal replied, and then, after a deep breath, “So, were you calling about anything in particular?”

“Yeah, I was wondering when you had planned your holiday, cause I’m supposed to go to Rome soon, but I can time it myself, so I thought, I can bring you to the airport and see you off if you want to?”

“That would be great! That would really make my life easier than taking public transport, if I’m honest. – Oh, but Marco, I have to go to work now, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“That’s okay,” Marco replied, and Ermal could hear the smile in his voice. “And don’t worry about tonight, it will go fine, I’m sure of that.”

His talk with Marco had done him good, speaking out just a little part of what occupied him had helped quiet down his thoughts, and Ermal found himself happily going about his mail round. One house in particular he did dread just a little, but to his relief he didn’t see Fabrizio. Finally, at the end of the round, he rang a doorbell, instead of just dropping the mail through the slot of the mailbox.

“Ermal! I didn’t mistake my days, did I?”

“No, Mr Borsato, don’t worry, I just had something to ask you.”

“Well, come in, no need to keep standing here like strangers,” Mr Borsato said cheerfully and let him in.

A few minutes later, Ermal found himself on the couch with the glass of water he had requested, listening to some monologue about the state of the television broadcasts recently. Ermal hardly pretended to listen, and when there was an acceptable silence, he came to the point.

“So, I had a question for you.”

Mr Borsato looked at him, head tilted sideways.

“Do you have any dinner plans tonight?”

At that, Mr Borsato shook his head. “No, nothing special, why?”

“I’ve been invited and was told I could bring a friend, and I thought you’d might like to join me.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“Yes, but I have one condition,” Ermal said.

Again, he got nothing more but a look, now with raised eyebrows.

“You behave yourself.”

“Oh, Ermal, don’t I always?” Mr Borsato started jokingly, but Ermal interrupted him.

“It’s at Fabrizio’s.”

Understanding flashed in Mr Borsato’s eyes, and for a second his expression turned serious, more serious than Ermal was used to.

“I see. I’ll behave myself, Ermal, don’t worry,” he said, and then the humorous glint was back in his eye. “I’d love to come, I do. Dinner at Fabrizio Moro’s place, who would have thought, me! And you! I wonder what you did to make that possible!” He even had the audacity to _wink_.

Ermal sighed briefly. That serious agreement was more than he had expected to get, if he was honest, and he knew that he hadn’t specified anything about Mr Borsato’s behaviour _now_ , so he should have known he had this coming.

“Great. I’ll pick you up, tonight.”

A walk home and a shower later, Ermal was once more staring at his closet. He really had to make that decision now, this was getting ridiculous. It wasn’t even close to a date, there was absolutely not one single reason why getting dressed should be such an issue. It was just a normal day like any other, where he would meet with a friend for dinner. It wasn’t special in any way.

In the end, he picked one of the shirts with the busy prints he liked. He tried to pretend it was just a shirt, and not a statement, but he knew it really was. _Take it or leave it_ , this was him, and if Fabrizio didn’t like it, it would make Ermal’s life just a little bit easier – or at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. But he also knew he was lying to himself, he was long, long past that stage.

Time had passed more quickly than he thought, and after a last check on his hair, all the while telling himself he didn’t need to put in so much effort, he again made his way to Mr Borsato. Together then, they walked to Fabrizio’s place.

Ermal rang the doorbell, and ignored the faint shaking in his hand. This would be fine. It was just dinner. Nothing more. It would be fine.

Fabrizio opened the door, smiling. He greeted Ermal, and then looked at the man behind him, seemingly slightly confused.

“Fabrizio, this is Mr Borsato, a friend of mine, Mr Borsato, Fabrizio,” Ermal hurried to introduce the two.

They made their way inside and took of their shoes and coats. Fabrizio stepped over to Ermal.

“You didn’t… You didn’t bring Marco?”

Ermal looked up from the particularly annoying knot in his shoe laces that he was trying to undo onehandedly.

“No, no, he lives in Milan. I brought Mr Borsato instead, because well – I thought he would be welcome, after what he did.”

It took a moment, but then Fabrizio’s eyes lit up in comprehension.

“The letters, of course. But Ermal, any friend of yours is welcome, at any time.”

“That’s kind, thank you! I also thought, though, the children have met him before, however briefly. I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Finally, he had the knot undone and could take off his shoe. He looked up, to find Fabrizio’s gaze on him, and Ermal had to take a steadying breath. He would make it through the night. He would be fine.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Romina,” Fabrizio said, and led him on to the living room.

Introductions were made, and while Fabrizio chatted to Mr Borsato, Ermal talked to Romina.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, and Ermal couldn’t help but let his gaze fall on Fabrizio. Had he talked about him? What had he said?

“Oh, no, not Fabri,” Romina said, laughing, following his gaze. “A little girl pestered me for a sleepover after the one at your place was such a success. I got the story about that in a lot of detail.”

Ermal felt an inexplicable blush hint over his cheeks. “She talked about that?”

Romina chuckled again, “Yes, she wouldn’t stop. I’m pretty sure I didn’t live up to all the expectations you set. I think the biggest disappointment was that my pancakes lacked faces. I can’t believe I made such a mistake!”

Ermal smiled at her, finding himself relax in her company. She emitted some kind of steady calm, and he liked it. It helped him settle his nerves a little, and these past few minutes he actually had managed to not focus only on Fabrizio.

That changed, though, as Fabrizio told them dinner was ready to be served. So now they all made their way to the table, Anita and Libero bolting down the stairs, greeting Ermal and Mr Borsato, Libero rather shyly so. He then came up to Ermal.

“Can I sit next to you at dinner, Ermal?”

“Of course!”

“Oh but Ermal, I also want to sit next to you!” Anita said, having heard her brother’s question.

“You can both sit next to me, I have two sides. Come, let’s go to the table!”

Fabrizio briefly tried to tell him he could say no, he could spend this dinner sitting to an adult, if he wanted to, but Ermal waved his comments away. He didn’t mind, sitting next to both children, and that they wanted that had filled his heart with a warm fuzzy feeling. So that left Ermal on one side of the table, Anita on his left-hand side, Libero on his right. Opposite him, so very dangerously opposite, was Fabrizio, with Mr Borsato opposite from Anita, and Romina on the opposite of Libero.

They took their seats, and admired the food. Ermal was looking forward to tasting it, he knew Fabrizio could cook well, and tonight would no doubt be no exception. He had made a lasagne, and there were bowls of bread and salad too.

They filled their plates, and conversation started flowing easily. Mr Borsato was talking to Fabrizio, and Ermal worried a little bit what about, but he was distracted by Libero telling Romina about his school trip.

“So then we found Altin, and he had lost his group, and he was scared, because it was the part of the museum with the mummies, and it was dark, it _was_ quite scary. But then Ermal was the best!”

“What did Ermal do?” Romina asked, with a smile at Ermal.

“So we tried to get Altin to come with us, but he wasn’t really replying, and then Ermal went to him, and he just started speaking Albanian, and it was so _cool_! I don’t know what he said, but Altin calmed down and stopped crying, and then he joined our group and it was a lot of fun!”

“That sounds great! What else did you see, Libero, besides the mummies?”

Ermal let Libero tell the story of the museum to Romina. He glanced to the left, and saw Anita sorting through her salad, taking out the cheese and the olives.

“Don’t you like those?” Ermal asked her.

“Oh, not the olives, I always give those to Libero. I love the cheese, so I’m keeping that to eat as last. – Can you please pass on the olives?”

Ermal did as she asked, dropping her olives on Libero’s plate, and then he couldn’t resist. He sorted through his own salad, adding his cheese to Anita’s pile, and his olives to Libero’s plate. When he looked up, he found Fabrizio looking at him, and Ermal managed a quick smile, before concentrating on his lasagne again.

Dinner went on, as did conversation. Mr Borsato told about his travels around the world, Anita listening in awe. Then Fabrizio had some stories to tell, Romina commenting on how much they were embellished or not. The room was filled with the nice atmosphere and the sound of laughter. Time flew by, and eventually the plates were empty. They helped clear the table and then Fabrizio got out ice cream, to great delight of Anita and Libero.

Fabrizio topped the ice cream with some whipped cream and handed out the bowls. They sat there, talking, laughing long after the bowls were empty. No one really wanted to put an end to this, each was having a great time. Eventually though, Anita and Libero got bored, and they got up to play. A little later, Romina looked at her watch, and with a sad face announced that it was time for her to drive home.

That broke up the other adults at the table. They got up to say goodbye, and Ermal found himself wishing Romina would have been able to stay just a little longer. He hadn’t talked to her much, aside from the school trip summary, and he didn’t mind getting to know her a bit better. And his feeling from before hadn’t diminished, as all throughout dinner she had radiated a calm that made it possible to sit across from Fabrizio and not act like the lovesick fool he was.

Luckily, there was still Mr Borsato, who, like Ermal, had gladly accepted the invitation to stay a little longer, to take a seat in the living room, to have another drink. Ermal had nestled himself again in the chair, the same as yesterday. But how different were the circumstances! Now Libero was laughing, talking to Mr Borsato, now he was happy. Now, Fabrizio was smiling about something Anita did, not worried and quiet.

Then Anita came to him, asking if she could sit on his lap. Of course she could. Ermal lifted her up and she made herself comfortable. Fabrizio got out more drinks, some snacks too, and turned on the television. All took a seat now on a chair, the couch. They watched the programme, chatting, smiling all the while. Libero still was awake, though yawning a lot, but Ermal noticed that Anita seemed suspiciously asleep.

That was the point where Fabrizio told Libero to get ready for bed, and where Mr Borsato said he should go home too, children’s bed time was old people’s bed time. He gave Ermal a last smile, a last look, a last comment, “I’ll see you Saturday”, and then left, but not without a wink that made Ermal blush. Still, he had said he would behave himself, and as far as Ermal could tell he had. So he bravely smiled back, and said his goodbyes.

It wasn’t long before Fabrizio was back downstairs, taking a seat on the couch where yesterday Libero had sat. He looked at Anita.

“You know, usually she does that with me, falling asleep like that,” he mumbled, and Ermal wasn’t totally sure if he was supposed to hear it, or react to it. He couldn’t help himself, though.

“Do you-” he began, and wanted to move Anita over to Fabrizio.

“No, no, she can stay with you, she choose you, after all,” Fabrizio replied, smiling at him.

“That she did,” Ermal agreed, and settled in his chair again, again fighting feelings. It seemed that every time he sat in this chair he was fighting his feelings from spilling over. Or maybe it was just this house. Or maybe it was just being around Fabrizio.

They watched the television in silence for a little while, though neither was really paying attention.

“Fabrizio? Could you pass me the olives?” Ermal then asked the man next to him, because they had been calling to him, but he couldn’t reach them, not with Anita asleep in his arms. He expected to get the olives, surely it was not such a strange question, but Fabrizio looked at him and didn’t move.

“I thought you didn’t like olives?”

“Me? No, I love olives,” Ermal replied, confused, why would he have asked for them if he didn’t like them? Since when did you have to give explanations for simple, obvious requests like this.

“But you gave them to Libero at dinner.”

“Yes,” Ermal replied, “Yes, I did.”

Fabrizio didn’t reply to that, just reached out and got him that bowl of olives he asked for, the look in his eyes when he looked at Ermal again was indecipherable. Indecipherable, but Ermal felt a shiver go down his back when he met it.

He chose to ignore it, to also ignore that, but it was definitely something to put on that pile of feelings to sort through later. It seemed that every evening at Fabrizio’s house ended like that. Maybe it was better to go home, but that would mean that he had to leave this room, leave this house, leave this family. And that was something he very much didn’t want. So as long as Fabrizio wasn’t complaining, he would stay.

Fabrizio didn’t complain, just occasionally reached out a hand, not even saying anything, but Ermal would understand and reach out the bowl of olives, so Fabrizio could take some. That’s how they finished the bowl, together. At around the same time as they reached the bottom, the programme they hadn’t really been watching ended.

“Let me take her to bed,” Fabrizio said, lifting Anita from his lap. With her weight gone, Ermal realized that he should go, the evening should end here. It was a shame, but it had been such a nice, great, amazing evening. He would keep that memory. And surely, more nights like this would follow. At least he knew now that nothing had been ruined, him and Fabrizio still were friends. Good friends. He was still welcome in the family, still trusted around the children. Still trusted around Fabrizio. And wasn’t that a great feeling? Tonight, he would be able to sleep so much better than last night, and he really needed a good night’s sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time, finally time for Ermal's well deserved holiday. It seems there's a surprise in store for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you've maybe noticed, I've updated the chapter count. It's still a bit of a guess, but I am pretty sure that there will be two more proper chapters after this one, and then (depending on how it goes) 1 or 2 epilogue chapters, though those plans are still a little vague. Anyway, this chapter is the beginning of the end :( In good news, that will mean that these two idiots finally solve things, this chapter startin with one persistent misunderstanding :)  
> I'd love to know your thoughts, and it would make me so happy if you would leave a comment or find me to talk about the story!! Enjoy reading!

He had a good night’s sleep. And what somehow the dinner had also given Ermal, was a way to be around Fabrizio and the children that resembled normalcy, that made him not want to fall apart and do _stupid_ things at every turn. Of course, all the thoughts and feelings never left, but he had been able to give them a place, a place that worked at least for casual interaction during the day, for example when bringing the mail, or when they spent time together, an evening here, a Monday there.

Maybe what also helped was the fact that Ermal’s holiday was finally getting closer and closer, even getting near enough to start counting down the days. He was rather looking forward to it, he realized. It had been a long while since he had treated himself on a holiday like this, usually it was just a few days off work, a weekend spend with friends, or a week at home to visit his mother or his grandmother. Not this time though, because this time he had taken off a few weeks, and planned a _proper_ holiday, and as time went by, he couldn’t wait for it to start.

In this time Ermal had often talked to Marco, and they had found that there was absolutely no problem for Marco to take Ermal to the airport and wish him a happy holiday. Ermal was glad his friend had to spend so much time in Rome. They had often joked that it would make more sense for Marco to move to Rome with all the time he spent there. Of course it wouldn’t, then he would have to travel to Milan all the time for work, and that combined with Anna’s work in Milan too, it was an easy decision to stay there. Still, the timing was perfect, for now Marco could bring him to the airport, and Ermal had to admit it was nice that someone was there to see him off.

It was busy in the departure hall, clearly he wasn’t the only one with holiday plans. He turned to Marco to say goodbye, thank him again for the ride, when he suddenly heard a voice call out, “Look papa, it’s Ermal! Ermal!”

Ermal looked up, Marco’s arm still around his shoulders, and smiled when he saw Anita skipping towards him through the crowds of people and suitcases, Fabrizio and Libero following. He ignored how his heart sped up just a little, and focused on smiling, greeting them, focused on behaving normally and not the star struck fool he was, kept being anytime he saw Fabrizio unexpectedly like this.

“But I really think I saw them! Can’t we go look?” Libero was saying, as they came closer, clearly following some previous discussion.

“No, at least Ermal is _really_ here,” Anita answered, a bit impatiently, reaching him and hugging him.

“I don’t care, we see him every week, sometimes every _day_!” Libero complained, but still greeted Ermal, happy to see him here.

“You see those stupid football players every week too!”

“Only on TV, not in real life!”

Fabrizio rolled his eyes just a little, Ermal saw, when he was finally in front of him, having followed the children.

“Hello Marco, nice to see you again, hi Ermal. Where are you going?” he greeted them, moving to untangle Anita from Ermal to give him some space to breathe.

Ermal smiled at Fabrizio, and answered, “To Paris, for now, for a well-deserved holiday!”

Then he looked over at Marco, to add something about how he’d dropped him off here, how he’d just been leaving and saying goodbye… Anything to keep the conversation going. No matter that they were in a busy airport, surrounded by crowds, having to go through security soon, Ermal wanted to talk to Fabrizio, ask him where he was going, how long, if the children were coming with him. Ermal tried to remember if Fabrizio had told him anything about an upcoming holiday, but he couldn’t find it, which made him pretty sure it hadn’t come up. He wouldn’t have forgotten it.

Before he could say anything or ask anything, though, he was interrupted by Libero saying, “There’s other people taking pictures, I was right! Come _on_!” and he dragged Fabrizio and Anita away towards a now quickly forming crowd. Fabrizio just had some time to shoot an apologetic look at Ermal, before they disappeared in the masses.

Marco laughed and embraced Ermal one more time.

“I’ve got to get to the car now, before that timer runs out. Have nice holiday, and enjoy those beaches!”

And Ermal did, enjoy those beaches. This was the nicest holiday he’d been on in a long time, and his only regret was that it wasn’t even longer. He first flew to Paris, from where he took a train to Normandy. He started out on the wide sandy beaches where not only nature was imposing, but so was the sense of history. Ermal walked the shores, crossing the distance from the dunes to the waves, and he visited the cemeteries, walking the distance covered in white crosses, the stone memorials. He went to the museums, impressed and silenced by the accounts of suffering that happened here on these beaches.

Then he moved on, to shores consisting of nothing but pebbles and magnificent white cliffs marking the edge of land, especially at high tide, because then the beaches disappeared. Then the waves lapped at the cliffs, threatening to conquer more and more of the soft white stone, dissolving it particle by particle. He visited the villages, watched the people on the promenades, and had dinner in the restaurants.

After that, he travelled on to Calais, and he took a train to London to catch a flight to Ireland. There, he spent almost week wandering the wild, wild coasts. There, he regretted that he had this whole tour of Europe planned, because he realized he could fill way more than the few days he had allowed himself here, in this country, there was so much more to discover here. The few days were too little, he wanted to stay, to just stay there, be one with nature…

He had to go, though, to a place that couldn’t be more different. A plane, some trains, a bus ride and finally a ferry brought him to the second-tiniest of Dutch inhabited islands. One side was bordered by a tidal sea offered only dykes and swampy sands, the other side bordered by the North Sea gave him sand and sea, as far as the eye could see. It was magnificent in its simplicity, and Ermal loved the days he spent there. He rented a bike and explored the island, changing between walking on the beaches, swimming in the sea, and biking through the dunes and fields. It was small enough that he felt he had gotten a good idea of the place, and small enough that he didn’t feel rushed, he didn’t feel the pressure, the need to go somewhere else, to see something else, because he could see it all in the time he had. In fact, he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time, a combined effect of the holiday so far and the place he was now.

Still, again he had to move on, and took another plane to his final destination, where he would stay for another few days. Copenhagen, Denmark. A country with an astounding 8500 kilometres of coastline, not bad for such a tiny country. Wherever you were in Denmark, you could be sure a sea could be found less than fifty kilometres away. That was something Ermal did not want to pass up on. Of course, he had to make a choice, he couldn’t go to every part of the coast, s his plan was to focus on a small part of the coast, and then move on to the city, to acclimatize himself a little to the busy life he would find there, and the life he would find again in Rome soon.

The first two days of his stay, he didn’t spend in the capital of the country, but a little more to the south, in some tiny town on the edge of the world, with more impressive cliffs, cliffs with trees and churches balancing precariously on the edge, trying with all their might, their roots and fundaments, to stay part of the world on dry land, but occasionally failing. These cliffs, right here, showed evidence for the meteorite impact killing the dinosaurs, solving a question scientists had wondered about for years. Right there, Ermal managed to find some fossils too, holding history in his hands, and giving him a nice souvenir of this holiday.

The last days of his holiday he did spend in Copenhagen, trying to let himself adjust to the fast-paced city life with its busy streets again. He planned to see the tourist attractions, and most importantly, he visited the mermaid, little as she was. He would have loved to stay there, staring out over the water with the citadel behind him, musing about the mermaid, remembering the stories and fairy tales from his youth. He could have stayed there and spend hours there, but in the end he didn’t, as the bus loads of tourists made it difficult to focus on the nice aspects of the place, and rather ruined the serene atmosphere that could have been.

So Ermal made his way back to the city centre, passing royal palaces, castles, and churches that seemed so _empty_ compared to the ones in Italy. Suddenly, he heard a voice call out, a voice so out of place, but so familiar, “Ermal! Ermal!”, followed by another familiar voice saying, “No Anita, not _again_ , I told you Ermal is not in Denmark like we are!”

Ermal looked up, scanning the crowds, to see Fabrizio tugging on Anita’s arm to get her to stay close to him. Ermal made his way over to them.

“But Ermal _is_ in Denmark,” he said, laughing, and then only out of reflex opening his arms in time so Anita could finish her jump into them.

“See papa, I was right!” she said, happily, as she was swung through the air.

Fabrizio only stared at him, a bit uncomprehendingly, and then looked around dazedly, as if he expected there to be someone else, as if he expected them to be somewhere else.

“Fabrizio! I didn’t know you were here too!” Ermal said, when he finally could release Anita, ruffling Libero’s hair as the boy approached him. The suddenness of this meeting was his own saving grace, there was no time to get lost in thoughts, no time to begin to worry. There was just time to _react_ and find his place here, which was easy as it had often been.

“Yes, a roundtrip through Denmark, a week here, a week there, we’ve been camping. Though if I’m honest, it’s been mostly a trip from theme park to theme park. It started with Legoland, of course, and now there’s Tivoli.”

The two men stood there for a minute in silence, trying to wrap their heads around this coincidence, this coincidence of finding each other again, finding each other here, out of all the places in the world.

“We were just about to have something to drink somewhere, do you… do you want to join us? Maybe?” Fabrizio asked then.

“Of course! If you don’t mind!” Ermal accepted the invitation gladly, quickly.

They made their way to a terrace on a square, and Ermal ordered himself a beer. It was almost late enough in the day for that, and well, when in Rome… They weren’t in Rome, that was the whole point, but the Danes surely didn’t turn down an opportunity for a beer. Fabrizio followed his example, and ordered a coke and an apple juice for the children too.

The first minutes was filled by Libero and Anita telling Ermal about their holiday, demanding Fabrizio show him the pictures he had taken on his phone. Fabrizio seemed a bit worried, repeating again and again that Ermal did not have to see them if he wasn’t in the mood for it. Ermal, of course, waved all these concerns away. He didn’t mind hearing about this family’s holiday, quite the opposite, in fact. Throughout their turbulent acquaintance, their friendship, he’d never declined getting to know more information, especially not if it was freely offered like this.

He found out a bit later why Fabrizio was so hesitant to engage him in meaningless chatter about joyful, carefree holidays. It was just the two of them now, Libero and Anita were playing with some other children in the square, splashing water from a small fountain. Ermal was occupied by the thought of how _nice_ this was, sitting here in the sunshine, on a holiday, drinking a beer with this man who was his friend, when he was roused from that exact thought by that man looking at him intently and asking in a serious tone, “Ermal?”

“Yes?” Ermal answered, after the second he needed to adapt to this change in atmosphere.

“I have to ask - where is Marco? Did you two break up? Ermal, are you okay?”

Ermal stared at Fabrizio, replaying those sounds in his head until they started making sense. Except they didn’t.

“Me and Marco?”

“I’m sorry it’s not my place, I shouldn’t have asked. Please pretend I didn’t say anything,” Fabrizio said, somehow blushing, now not meeting Ermal’s eyes at all, but rather staring at the table, fiddling with a coaster.

“Marco is my friend,” Ermal tried again, not sure where this conversation had taken a wrong turn and lost the route it had been on. Fabrizio didn’t reply immediately, but then continued, softly.

“It’s okay, you know. I’m not – I mean, you shouldn’t be ashamed, there is nothing wrong, you love who you love, it’s all okay.”

Ermal rather felt as if he had landed in some parallel universe.

“I know it’s all okay – but Fabrizio, there was never anything between me and Marco. We’re friends. There will never be anything between us. Anyway, he’s very happy with his girlfriend.”

Fabrizio sat back in his chair, still not meeting Ermal’s eyes.

“Oh! Really?! That’s good! I mean – you’re not… sad. You’re not _sad_ , _that’s_ what’s good. Wait. You’re also not… Oh god, I’m so sorry. I just thought… You two together, and then the holiday, to Paris! I assumed…”

“Marco dropped me off at the airport. For _my_ holiday, which I’m on on my own,” Ermal explained, wondering what had caused Fabrizio to turn into this rambling mess. Usually it was him who was like that, not Fabrizio. He was always so… composed, preferring to stay silent if he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of his words.

“Right. Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

Ermal wondered what to say next, he knew he had to change the topic, but his mind came up blank. The two men sat there in awkward silence, finishing their beers, until finally, luckily, they were rescued by Libero.

“Papa, can we go now? You promised we would go on the one tower today!”

Anita had followed her brother back to their table and added, a bit breathlessly still from the game they had been playing, “Are you coming too, Ermal?”

“Can I?” Ermal asked, not minding spending more time with this family, even with the slight awkwardness still hanging in the air. He didn’t want to force himself on them, though.

“Of course, you’re very welcome, it’s up to you!” Fabrizio replied, clearly also not wanting to make that decision, but rather leaving it up to Ermal.

But if Fabrizio didn’t mind, then there was a very easy answer to this question.

“Great, then I’d love to come with you!” Ermal smiled at Fabrizio, a bright smile, and was rewarded with an answering smile, though a bit more hesitant. Still, Ermal marvelled in it, because it showed that they could move past this awkward turn of events.

They paid and made their way through the streets, and Ermal wanted to bring up what had happened, he wanted to ask how Fabrizio had come to that conclusion, him and Marco together, but he didn’t get a chance. It was clear that Fabrizio did _not_ want to talk about it again, it was clear how embarrassed he still was. Even as time passed and he relaxed slightly, he managed to keep an iron grip on the topic of their small talk. Whenever Ermal tried to breach the topic, Fabrizio dodged it, changed it, so they did not discuss much more than the streets they passed or the directions to take. Thanks to the children, it didn’t turn silent or awkward again, as they had questions to ask, observations to make, and laughter to release into the air.

They made it to the tower Libero had mentioned. Ermal recognised it from one of his tourist guides. He hadn't visited it yet, and gladly took the chance to do so now. The followed the winding path up, until they reached the stairs, and climbed the last part of the tower. Once they made it to the top, they enjoyed the view they had over Copenhagen. They circled the platform, pointing out the spires and towers of churches and castles that they could view from there. It was a bright and clear day, and if they looked carefully, they saw the bridge leading to Sweden in the distance.

“Can we go there, too?” Anita asked, looking up at Fabrizio with big eyes.

“Not this time, dear, let’s save that for another holiday, yes? We just have a few more days here, and there’s a lot to see in Copenhagen still.”

When they’d seen it all, they made their way down again, and stood on the street a bit aimlessly. Were they going to split ways here? What else was there to do?

Fabrizio shuffled his feet, a hand on both Libero’s and Anita’s shoulder, and Ermal could sense it, this is where they would say goodbye. He hoped it was just Fabrizio who wanted to have a family holiday just with his children, and that it wasn’t because of what had happened earlier. There was no reason Fabrizio should feel so strongly about his mistake, Ermal surely didn’t. It was just a misunderstanding, based on that brief conversation at the airport, where Fabrizio assumed Ermal and Marco were together going to Paris. Ermal wasn’t offended, of course he wasn’t, and Fabrizio shouldn’t think that either. It should not change anything between them, and Ermal had hoped, standing on that tower, that nothing had, but this moment he was not so sure. He had thought their friendship was stronger than this, but right now it depended on Fabrizio.

However, as many times before, Fabrizio surprised him. He didn’t hint that it was time for them to go their own way, or that he had something planned with just the children. Instead, he asked a simple question.

“Would you like to come to dinner with us?”

Before Ermal had consciously understood the sentence, his heart already leapt in joy, it was almost embarrassing.

“Yes, I’d love to!” he said, maybe a touch too quick, but found that he didn’t mind, and neither did Fabrizio, it seemed.

“Great, let’s go find a nice place,” he replied only, though his expression showed how happy he was with Ermal’s answer. He started leading the way, choosing the smaller streets parallel to the main one, where often the less touristic, more authentic places could be found.

And they did find something nice, a small restaurant with what seemed some local people, always a good sign. Ermal and Fabrizio were taken to a table, and took a seat opposite each other, with the children next to them. The waitress came back with a basket of bread and handed out the menus, and gave both Libero and Anita a drawing and some pencils.

For once, Ermal felt like he had the upper hand. It seemed Fabrizio still had some trouble meeting his eyes, which was somehow endearing. And while he was curious about the exact reasons why he had made those assumptions, Ermal wasn't going to make Fabrizio even more uncomfortable by bringing it up again. So instead, he focused on keeping a light-hearted conversation going, occasionally involving Libero and Anita, trying to give Fabrizio the time and atmosphere he needed to get back to his usual self.

The food was good, the children not too tired yet, they were well-behaved and happy. Fabrizio slowly behaved more and more like Ermal was used to, and he was glad about that change. He was looking at Ermal again, talking more, making jokes, and slowly it was as if that strange conversation they had had earlier had never happened.

There was only one thing that was bothering Ermal a little. Throughout dinner, he spotted two women at a table behind Fabrizio send curious glances their way, clearly talking about them. Ermal ignored it, but wondered about it. Did they recognize Fabrizio? Would that happen so far from home? Would they interrupt their dinner? How would Fabrizio react to that, how would Libero and Anita? Would it ruin the peaceful, carefree atmosphere they had managed to create again?

He was wrong though, he found out a little later, it was nothing like that. Maybe there was a lesson for him to learn, maybe he shouldn’t be so ready to think the worst. Fabrizio had just gone to the bathroom, and when Ermal looked up from his plate again, he happened to catch the eye of one of the women. She nodded at him and smiled, a knowing smile, a smile that tried to tell him something, and it was clear that whatever it was, it was something good. Ermal looked back, slightly confused, but found the answer when he dropped his gaze just a little, landing on the intertwined hands of the two women.

Realization hit him at once. The two thought he and Fabrizio were together, a couple, a family on a holiday. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks at the thought, but also couldn't help another look and an answering smile. He could pretend, just for a second, that that was indeed what he and Fabrizio were. Together. Let them think that, it would do no harm. As long as it would stay like this, a mirrored smile, a common idea, Ermal could indulge himself a little, let these wishes exist also outside of his own mind, shared with these two strangers.

Then Fabrizio came back, and Ermal was glad for the dimmed lighting in the restaurant, because his blush had returned when Fabrizio did. Still, he needed a second to reorder his thoughts, to get them back under control again. To be sure Fabrizio wouldn’t notice anything, he turned towards Anita, sitting next to him, diverting the attention from him.

After dessert, the evening closed, and Ermal knew that now, their time would really come to an end. He would not make any assumptions about the next few days, these hours today were more than he had ever hoped for, the coincidence too great.

“Which direction are you going in?” he asked Fabrizio, and didn’t know what he hoped the answer would be. If they had to go in the same direction, it meant that their evening would be longer by just a few minutes. If they would split up now, at least it would be a clean split, with no chance for awkward hovering later.

And indeed, Fabrizio nodded in the opposite direction from where Ermal’s hotel was. Then it would end here. Ermal took a breath, looking for the words to say goodbye, but also to tell Fabrizio how much he had enjoyed meeting him here, spending the day with him. To let him know that he wasn’t weirded out or upset at all, if that was something Fabrizio was still worried about.

His search for words went on longer than Fabrizio’s, apparently, because before Ermal could so much as start a sentence, Fabrizio began to speak, softly, almost shyly.

“Ermal? I don’t know what your plans exactly are, but we are going to explore the city some more tomorrow, and… Well, would you maybe like to join us? I understand if you have other plans or rather spend time alone – it’s your holiday – but I just wanted to say you’re very welcome.”

Ermal stared for a second in silence. Again, this was not at all what he had expected, but it was all he wanted. Of course he would like to spend another day with Fabrizio, with Libero and Anita. His own plan had also been to discover the city, and wouldn’t it be so much better if he could share that with someone? And to share it with Fabrizio and his children, well, Ermal definitely was not going to say no to that.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do!”

At his words, Fabrizio looked up, a smile on his face that seemed to light up the street, and one that was contagious enough that Ermal still had a similarly bright smile on his when he made his way through the mostly empty streets towards his hotel.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal's holiday continues, and he has that day planned with Fabrizio and the children. The plan is sightseeing, visiting the Mermaid, and looking for souvenirs. But there might also be some unexpected things happening :)

“Good morning!” Ermal greeted the family waiting for him on the street corner as he came closer. Fabrizio was leaning against the wall, while Anita and Libero were playing tag in the little alley. Fabrizio looked up as he approached them, and a smile started on his face when he saw Ermal, though is expression quickly changed to one of confusion.

“Ermal? I thought you weren’t leaving yet?”

“What…?” Ermal began, but then followed Fabrizio’s gaze to the suitcase he was trailing behind him, and chuckled.

“Oh, that, no, I’m not.”

Ermal leaned against the wall next to Fabrizio, and started to explain.

“I checked out of my hotel. It was a nightmare, I don’t think I slept at all the whole night. First, they forgot to mention that there’s a night club opposite, which kept blasting music ridiculously loud literally until seven o’clock this morning. Then there were people in the room next to mine also having some kind of party that was even louder at times, and when I went to the hotel’s staff they didn’t do anything about it, just told me “it was not so bad”. Finally, this morning I was woken up – or would have been woken up if I had been asleep – by the cleaning lady. She was nice enough and I’m sure it wasn’t her fault, she said she had a very tight schedule, but still, that’s no way to treat a paying customer. Anyway, I tried to complain again this morning, but no one took me seriously, so I left.”

“That sounds awful,” Fabrizio agreed after a sympathetic whistle through his teeth.

“It was. All the other hotels I found for my holiday were fine, better than expected even, but this was just horrible. So, I wanted to say, I’ll just join you later, when I’ve found a place to stay for these last two nights, is that okay? I’ll call you when I’m done and see where to find you.”

Fabrizio slowly nodded, and then even more slowly said, “Yes, or…”

Ermal turned his head to look at him, curiously. There was something about that tone…

“Or?” he gently prompted.

“Well, we have booked a family room, you know, one double room joined to a room with two single beds for the children. Anita has been wanting to share with me in her new found love for sleepovers, so we have a single bed to spare. What I’m trying to say is - you’re very welcome to take that if you want.”

Fabrizio was not looking at Ermal as he said that, but staring at Libero and Anita, calling out “Cyclist!” to get them to the sides of the narrow street so an approaching biker could pass by. It was almost as if he hadn’t just made the offer he had, and for five seconds, Ermal wondered if he had just made it up somehow, had started hearing things that were not there at all. Just as that thought crossed his mind, and he latched on to it, that would explain it all, he noticed something that contradicted that exact thought.

A blush seemed to be creeping up Fabrizio’s neck, and he had started fidgeting with his hair.

“I mean, if you want – I understand that you’re on your holiday, it’s your time alone, I’m already glad you agreed to spend time with us today, you shouldn’t have, please ignore me, just – yes, you can look for a hotel and we’ll just meet up later. Yes.”

Fabrizio had really just proposed that Ermal would share their rooms? Share the rest of their holiday? Like they were, in fact, a family? Like Ermal belonged with them? Ermal knew this was going to be hard, and he knew he would no doubt put himself into a bigger mess that needed sorting out, but was there a single chance he was going to pass up on this? No. Definitely not.

“Wait, Fabrizio, that’s such a – an amazing offer! It would really be a perfect solution! I’d love to stay with you. But… Can I – can I really?”

At his words, Fabrizio’s eyes, though he still wasn’t looking at Ermal in any way, seemed to light up a bit. If Ermal didn’t know better, he might have called that emotion hope, but he did know better, and there was no reason why Fabrizio was hoping he would say yes, was there? He was just trying to help him out, as he had done time and time before. It was important that he kept his head together, especially now, especially with this happening, this staying together in the same hotel for the rest of their holiday, because it was giving him ideas that would never be. He should remember that, and not start projecting his foolish hopes on the situation at hand.

“Of course you can, it’s really no problem whatsoever!” Fabrizio said, now with a soft smile, and finally looking at Ermal, which led him to have some issues finding the next words he wanted to say. In the end, though, he managed.

“Won’t Libero mind having to share his room with me?”

“I’m sure he won’t, but let’s ask him,” Fabrizio replied, and called over Libero. He quickly explained the situation to the boy, who of course did not mind in the slightest.

“So you’ll stay with us? That’s amazing!”

“Libero, Ermal will stay with us, but he is still on his own holiday, so he might not want to join us all day, but just do his own things, don’t forget that,” Fabrizio cautioned, though Ermal couldn’t help but think that if it was up to him, he definitely wanted to join Fabrizio and the children all day.

Anita had now also noticed something was happening, and skipped over.

“What are you talking about? Ermal, are you leaving?” she asked, as she noticed the suitcase standing next to him, and her lip started to quiver.

“No, Ani, no, he’s going to stay with us in the hotel!” Libero said quickly, wanting to prevent with all his might spilled tears, especially when there was absolutely no reason to. “Isn’t that great?”

“Is it true, will you really stay with us?” Anita asked, looking up with wide eyes at Ermal, and she squealed in delight when he nodded and smiled. Even regardless of this whole situation around Fabrizio, just the reaction of those two children would have been enough to convince him to stay with them. It was heart-warming, it really was, to see how much they liked having him around.

“Come on, let’s go in and drop off your suitcase,” Fabrizio said, and pushed open the hotel’s door again to let them in. They quickly explained the situation at the reception desk and received another key card. Ermal put his suitcase in Fabrizio’s rooms, and a few minutes later they stood outside again, ready to start their day.

“What was your plan for today?” Ermal asked Fabrizio, when they kept standing there.

“Well, we wanted to go sightseeing a bit more, but you probably already saw most – we haven’t been to the Little Mermaid yet, and you said you have… Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, I’m sorry…”

“What? No! I mean, I don’t mind seeing it again! I’ll just come with you. It will be fun!”

And Ermal meant that. No matter that he’d seen the statue or some buildings already, he knew it would be different when he would join Fabrizio. Then he would also see everything through the children’s eyes, and that just wouldn’t be the same as seeing it on his own, with no one to talk to. It would be even better, he was convinced of that.

“Okay, great!” Fabrizio said, sounding a little surprised at his enthusiasm. “We also wanted to buy some souvenirs later today. We can just see what we come across.”

Ermal nodded, and they went on their way through the streets towards the Little Mermaid, taking a tour through Nyhavn with its colourful houses, and passing some castles. Finally, they made it to the statue, right when there appeared to be a lull in the stream of buses full of tourists, for it wasn’t as crowded at it had been the day before.

“Look papa, it’s really her, it’s really Ariel!” Anita exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the statue.

She then started to tell the whole story of her favourite movie, as if none of the others knew it, though all of them had seen it before, multiple times. Ermal briefly wondered if he should tell her the original story, but decided against it. There was no need to bother that happy little girl with a tale that didn’t end quite so well as the Disney movie, and without an evil witch to blame it all on. It was a lesson Anita didn’t have to learn yet, that life sometimes just wasn’t fair, that sometimes bad things happened to good people…

Instead, he focused on Anita’s laughter, on Libero’s smiles, on the happy expression on Fabrizio’s face. This was what he had. Sometimes also good things happened, he shouldn’t forget that. And how could he forget that, with Anita hugging him now, with Fabrizio including him in a joke, with Libero reaching for his hand as they made their way back towards the city centre? Good things happened, and he was happy too.

They had lunch in a park near the royal castle. Ermal had bought some hotdogs at a stand, and handed them out. They sat on the stone edge of the flowerbeds, looking out over the water and the old-fashioned ships. Fabrizio and Libero were talking together, and so were Ermal and Anita.

“What do you like most that you’ve seen so far in Copenhagen?” he asked her, though he wasn’t really wondering about what her answer would be.

“The Little Mermaid!”

Ermal chuckled, because of course it was.

“Not the houses or the castles?” he tried anyway.

“Hmm, no. And you know why?” Anita said, after thinking for a few seconds.

“Tell me.”

“I already saw those in Legoland, so they weren’t really new now. Only bigger.”

“Really? Did they make everything out of Lego?” Ermal asked, but the question only got him an offended look.

“Ermal! It’s Legoland, of course everything is made out of Lego!” Anita answered, shaking her head in despair.

“I didn’t know,” Ermal said, laughing softly, “I’ve never been there!”

That earned him another look.

“Never?”

Ermal shook his head. “Never.”

“Papa, papa!” Anita turned to Fabrizio, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention. “Papa, we have to go back to Legoland! Ermal hasn’t been there, ever!”

Fabrizio stared at her, clearly confused about this statement and where it was suddenly coming from.

“No dear, we can’t go back now, we’ve just been there. Maybe we can all go again next year, yes?”

Anita turned back to Ermal, excited with that almost promise she had managed to get, but Ermal didn’t look at her. He looked at Fabrizio, who looked back, and seemed to realize at the same time what exactly he had said. He turned red, blinked, and tried again.

“I mean, maybe _Ermal_ can go next year, or some other time. But not now. We’re on the other side of the country!” He didn’t look at Ermal anymore, but stared at the factory chimneys in the distance, the blush on his cheeks only slowly, so slowly, fading away.

“See, papa said so, we can go again! You have to see Legoland!”

Ermal turned back to Anita, focusing on her, focusing on the only normal thing in this situation, the only thing that didn’t throw a thousand questions at his head. He could inspect those later, go on a search for answers later.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll go there one day.”

Luckily, Anita hadn’t noticed anything, and chattered on about Legoland without any input from Ermal. It gave him enough time to compose himself so that by the end of their lunch he could act as if nothing strange had happened. And there hadn’t, really. Right? Also Fabrizio seemed to have composed himself again, and nothing was different from before, as they made their way through the city streets, now looking for nice souvenirs.

They wandered through the different shops, Libero and Anita admiring everything, while Fabrizio tried to discourage them from buying all the things they absolutely didn’t need. Ermal wandered after them. He hadn’t really been planning to buy souvenirs, not for himself, and not for family or friends. He had sent most people a postcard already, and he had his pictures, and most importantly his memories.

In the end, Anita found a T-shirt she liked, and a notebook with the Little Mermaid on it. Libero had settled on magnets of Viking ships, while Fabrizio had decided to buy a cap for himself. Ermal waited for him to pay, letting his hands mindlessly go through a display of key chains.

“Do you like those? Are you going to buy one?” Libero asked, appearing next to him.

“I don’t know yet,” Ermal said, “Which one do you like best?”

Libero turned the display to have a look at all of them.

“Oh, see, this one is cool, it’s like a little book and you can put pictures in there!”

Ermal took the keychain from him, checking it out. Indeed, as Libero said, the keychain opened with a little button and showed Nyhavn on the front, the Little Mermaid on the back. Inside was space for four small pictures, the size of passport photos. Ermal toyed with it. He hadn’t planned on buying anything, but this was something he was sure his grandmother would like, especially if he put some pictures in there too.

“I’ll take that. Thank you, Libero!”

He made his way to the cashier, and paid, and went back to Fabrizio, who was patiently waiting for him to finish. Their search for nice souvenirs had taken longer than they’d thought, so they went to find a restaurant to end their day.

After a tasty, uneventful dinner, Fabrizio struggled a bit to find his way back to their hotel, and Ermal was rather sure they took a longer way than necessary. He didn’t mind though, if it was up to him, this holiday would never end.

The children did mind, it had been a long day, with a lot of walking, with a lot of things to see, and they were tired. Fabrizio ended up carrying Anita for the last couple of streets, while Libero had once more grabbed a hold of Ermal’s hand. Finally though, they reached their hotel, and finally they could almost sleep.

A bit later, Ermal just came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his curls. He had expected that the hotel would have a hair dryer, and indeed there was one, but it blew such a tepid stream of air that it would take ages for his hair to dry. Luckily he had packed his own.

Before he had made it to his suitcase, though, he paused and tried to decipher the scene he was walking into. Libero was in his bed already, leafing through a comic before sleep. That wasn’t what paused Ermal, there was nothing wrong with that. What didn’t look quite right was Anita sitting on the floor, crying, Fabrizio kneeling beside her. Had something happened?

Ermal did a step closer to the two on the floor, trying to figure out if this was something he could help with, or something he shouldn’t try to interfere in. Fabrizio looked up, and sent him a weak smile, before focusing on Anita again.

“I don’t want to,” Anita said, sobbing.

“Come on,” Fabrizio said, patiently, even though it looked like this had been going on for a while. “You slept fine last night, didn’t you?”

“No! You snore! I didn’t sleep well and I want my own bed tonight!”

Fabrizio sighed, and then said gently, wiping some tears away on the little girl’s face. “But now Ermal is staying with us, and we told him he could sleep in Libero’s room. Right? And you will sleep with me.”

“Nooo,” Anita only wailed, “I want to sleep in Libero’s room!” she added through some hiccups, breaking down in sobs again. It was clear she was overtired from the long day and all the things they had done and seen. A good night’s sleep would help her, but that would only work if she actually went to sleep.

Ermal had heard enough to get the picture, and made a split second decision. He crouched down next to Fabrizio, and put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“She can have my bed, I don’t mind. I mean, we can share, right? - If you are okay with that,” Ermal said, when Fabrizio was looking at him. A voice in the back of his mind told him that maybe this wasn’t a good thing to suggest, and he would probably regret it later, when he had to deal with the consequences, but it was the _right_ thing to suggest.

Fabrizio looked at him for a second, and Ermal couldn’t quite read his expression. Then he nodded, though.

“Thank you,” he murmured, before getting up and lifting Anita up as he did so.

“Did you hear what Ermal said? He said you can have his bed. So you can sleep in your own bed. Okay? Stop crying, love.”

Anita quietened down slowly, occasionally hiccupping one more time, until she pretty much had fallen asleep in Fabrizio’s arms. He put her to bed, and also told Libero it was time to turn off the lights and go to sleep now. In the meantime, Ermal had dried his hair, and had taken his things to the other room. He sat down on the edge of the mattress with a sigh. Sharing a bed with Fabrizio, was that really going to be okay? Although, he didn’t have a choice, did he? He had suggested it, so he had to make sure it was fine.

Fabrizio now took his turn in the bathroom, while Ermal got under the covers. He tried to read a little, but just stared at the pages without seeing a word, and put his book away again. Finally, Fabrizio emerged from the bathroom dressed in his pyjamas, his hair still a little wet. He quickly checked on Libero and Anita, who were both asleep. Then he closed the door, and made his way over to the bed, getting in.

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for this morning, but I still hope you can sleep well,” Fabrizio spoke into the dark, after he had turned off the night light on the bed stand.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can. Thank you for letting me stay, really.”

Fabrizio didn’t say anything else so Ermal added a soft “Good night” and turned to his side, eyes still open. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep, or felt like he couldn’t, and he knew he should after his awful night before, it was just that he suddenly felt so _awake_. Somehow, the room seemed to mock him, because this was what he had dreamt of for so long, but it wasn’t how he wanted it, not completely. He should have been more careful what he wished for… Still, it kept Ermal awake, even when there was nothing happening. He was just lying there, listening to the sound of Fabrizio’s breathing that told him that Fabrizio didn’t have the same issues Ermal had, for they deepened and evened out, and showed that Fabrizio had fallen asleep.

It wasn’t that long after that Ermal heard the door separating their room from the children’s room click. It swung open slowly, showing a growing beam of light. Libero shuffled into the room, outlined by the light behind him.

“Papa?” he said softly, still at the door. It was clear he didn’t want to wake Ermal, but he was in need of his father and had to wake him. He padded over to Fabrizio’s side of the bed.

“Papa?” he repeated a little louder, but Fabrizio didn’t stir.

“What is it, Libero? Can I help?” Ermal asked softly, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, that feeling of not doing anything while he could easily do _something_. He was awake anyway. Libero looked up at him when he spoke.

“Anita had a bad dream...” he said, whispered almost.

“Shall I come with you?”

Even in the dim light coming from the open door, Ermal could see Libero nodding, so he got out from under his blanket, and followed Libero into the other room. The night light was on there, he saw Anita clutching her favourite stuffed rabbit close, and there were tears in her eyes for the second time that night.

“Shh, Anita, everything is okay, it was just a dream,” Ermal whispered, kneeling down next to the bed, stroking over the little girl’s hair. “Do you want papa, shall I get him instead?”

At that, Anita shook her head wildly, dropping a few more tears, and those were bad enough, but what really touched Ermal was how she clutched to him.

“Okay, I’ll stay, don’t worry, I’ll stay.” Ermal repeated that as some kind of mantra, until at least the tears had dried, until at last Anita calmed down and relaxed a little, settling under her blankets again. He had no idea what to do next, though, and looked over at Libero who had crawled back into his own bed.

“Papa always sings to us after a bad dream,” he said helpfully, clearly sensing Ermal’s uncertainty. Ermal smiled at him, grateful, because this might actually work out.

“Do you want me to sing to you?” he asked Anita, “Would that help?”

The girl nodded, and Ermal settled a bit more comfortably on the floor next to her. He reached out to dry her cheeks and tuck her in nice and secure in her blanket. Then he started singing, that same lullaby he’d sung for her before, and sang it twice, just to be sure she could sleep again.

When he finished, he stayed there for a minute longer, waiting to see if anything would happen. Nothing did, so he got up, and saw that Libero had also fallen asleep again. He couldn’t help but tuck the blankets a bit nicer around him as well, and brush some hair from his forehead.

Then Ermal padded across the room, back to his own. He left on the nightlight on the stand between the children’s beds, and softly closed the door behind him. He didn’t stand in a dark room now, though, like he had expected. The lamp on the bedside table on Fabrizio’s side of the room was also on, and he himself was sitting up in the pillows, his eyes landing on Ermal as he stood there in front of the door, hand on the handle still.

“Anita had a bad dream, Libero came, but you were asleep and I was awake anyway -” Ermal started to explain, but was interrupted by Fabrizio, who spoke softly.

“Ermal it is okay, you don’t have to explain. Also, I heard enough to get the picture. Thank you. Truly. Again, you’re doing so much for them – for us, for me. Thank you.”

Ermal didn’t know what to say to that. There was a limit to the answers he could give to being thanked for things he did without thinking, things that were the only logical thing to do. So he just smiled and nodded, hoping Fabrizio would understand him anyway.

As Ermal got into the bed, Fabrizio lay back down again too, and mumbled another goodnight. He turned to his side, and seemed to fall asleep again immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I'm so sorry to everyone who I promised these idiots would get their shit together this chapter. Words happened and an extra chapter happened (chapter count is updated) and I promise, I /promise/ that next chapter will be the one where they're finally talking. Still, even with only continued mutual pining (worse than ever) and no solutions, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a comment with your thoughts!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tada! The moment we've all been waiting for. I can play coy and tease you by saying will they? will they not? but we all know that they will. It's the confession :D

Ermal didn’t fall asleep, again he didn’t. Even though he was tired, especially after his almost sleepless night before, still he couldn’t sleep. His thoughts just didn’t surrender, but it was okay. It was not the endless going around of worry or stress, it was just going through the events of the day and sorting them, putting them in a place, making sure he’d remember them. He was pretty sure science said that that was what sleep was supposed to be for, but apparently not for him.

He didn’t mind, there was so much going on these days, so many little things, things he didn’t want to forget. Ermal knew that it wasn’t _real_ , not like he wanted it. These days, this family, it might look so very much like he wished his life would be, but it wasn’t. But remembering that was so hard sometimes, and this time at night gave him an opportunity to instil it in his mind again, so that he would not make any mistakes during the next day, mistakes that would let everything fall apart…

He dozed a little, but never fell into deep sleep. Anita had been right, he realized, Fabrizio did snore. It was just another clear sign of how far gone Ermal really was, but he found it wasn’t so very annoying. It wasn’t that loud, it was quite rhythmic as far as snoring went, and it didn’t interrupt his thoughts too much. Rather, it gave them some kind of lifeline, preventing Ermal from completely getting lost in those thoughts and memories.

Those thoughts, that as time ticked by turned to quite a different topic altogether. Somehow, lying there in the dark, next to Fabrizio’s sleeping presence, it turned from reminding himself that it wasn’t real, that it meant nothing, to exactly the opposite… Those forbidden thoughts crossed his mind, he couldn’t stop them. What if it could be real? What if there were little things that _did_ mean something?

Ermal knew exactly what an immense abyss was lying in the direction of those thoughts, how incredibly dangerous it was. But it was so easy, it seemed so natural to go exactly that way right now. And it was only one more day, one more night, he could make it through a little more time, couldn’t he? Even if he now just let himself enjoy this, just linger on the possibility there was only in his own mind. He could pull himself together even after this. Of course he could. One night, that was all. Make it through the remaining time with Fabrizio here, and then take all the time he needed to compose himself back home. It would be fine.

That’s what the told himself, and then he let his thoughts wander, without checking them. What if it could be real, all those little things? What if he wasn’t making it up at all, what if everything between them wasn’t just Ermal’s misplaced feelings, but _mutual_?

There might be some different explanations than what he wished for, but they just didn’t always make a lot of sense. For example, just Fabrizio’s reaction when he had learned that Ermal had not broken up with Marco, when he learned that Ermal had never been together with Marco and never would, that had not been a completely normal reaction, had it? It hadn’t been a reaction you would expect from a friend who thought you had just broken up a relationship. There had been relief in Fabrizio’s expression, in his words, yes, but it was deeper than just an averted crisis, more than just simple compassion for a friend. There was something else in there, something like hope, maybe?

Throughout this day they spent together, it had seemed there was this pull between them, this stream of energy. Of course, Ermal had felt something similar before in certain moments, back in Italy, but not like this. If he thought of it, he would even say it started earlier than today, maybe yesterday, sometime during dinner. It was like he and Fabrizio slowly gravitated towards each other, from both sides, when before it seemed more one-sided, when before it seemed only his own imagination at work. And what had changed? Fabrizio no longer thought he was already in a relationship, and he’d gotten over his embarrassment of thinking that.

So what if Fabrizio also wanted him, like more than just friends? What if it wasn’t just Ermal with those ridiculous, romantic thoughts? After all, Fabrizio had sometimes looked at him with a gaze that might mean more. And that comment today, of going on a holiday with the four of them next year, Ermal joining Fabrizio, that could mean more, couldn’t it? Especially with the sweet blush on Fabrizio’s face after he’d noticed what he’d said.

Ermal smiled at the dark ceiling. Yes, what if it wasn’t just him, and what if he could have this? A holiday next year, to Legoland with Fabrizio and Libero and Anita, in a hotel like this, or maybe camping, with a tent for the children, and another for Fabrizio and himself, cuddling up in sleeping bags together. Eating breakfast in the sunshine outside... He couldn’t say he had ever been a type for camping, but suddenly it rather started to appeal to him somehow.

He got lost in thoughts like that, in more and more unlikely scenarios that all had one thing in common. Thinking about him and Fabrizio, together, and it was rather a nice way to spend the night.

Ermal was still awake when he noticed Fabrizio toss and turn a little, then sigh as he got up to go to the bathroom. He didn’t turn on the lights, but made his way through the room in the dim filtered light of a street lamp through the curtains, and Ermal appreciated that gesture, of trying not to wake him. Of course he was already awake, but Fabrizio didn’t know that.

The plan backfired, though, when Fabrizio made his way back to the bed, and happened to stumble over one of his shoes, tripping, but managing to catch himself on the night stand. Fabrizio didn’t fall – but his _Denmark Travel Guide_ was not so lucky to share that same fate. It fell to the ground with a loud crash, louder than should be necessary for nothing more than a stack of paper.

“Fuck,” Fabrizio muttered, picking it up again and sitting down on the bed. He threw an anxious glance at Ermal, who looked back at him, eyes open, clearly visible even in the dark room, awake.

“I’m so sorry, I tried not to wake you – “ Fabrizio began saying, the guilt clear in his voice.

“I know, don’t worry, I wasn’t asleep anyway,” Ermal replied quickly, he didn’t want Fabrizio to feel this unnecessary guilt.

“Can’t you sleep? Is something wrong – wait, am I snoring? Is it keeping you awake?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I… I just got lost in thoughts, you know how it is,” Ermal replied, trying to make light of the situation. While this concern was kind, it was also what he neither wanted nor needed right now. A few more questions, and Fabrizio would reach exactly the kind of thoughts that were keeping him up, and surely that wouldn’t end well… Ermal had thought he would have a few more hours to compose himself, and not be confronted with, well, the object of his imaginations so soon.

“Do you want to talk about it? Maybe it will help,” Fabrizio said, just like Ermal had imagined he would. How was he going to stop this well-meant interrogation? Really, at this point the only thing that could help him was some time alone, away from Fabrizio, or some answers.

Answers.

Answers from Fabrizio.

Could he? Should he? Like he had told himself so many times before, it was risking _everything_ … But after the reasonings that had crossed his mind just before… Some things did not make sense, no sense at all, unless they meant something. But at the same time, Ermal was aware, so very well aware that he wanted these things to mean exactly that, so what if he was completely wrong and was just reading too much into everything?

“Ermal?” Fabrizio reached out a hand, as if to put it on Ermal’s shoulder, but coming to a stop just above it, hovering there, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do that. After a few seconds, he just pulled it back again, burying it beneath his other hand, letting out a soft sigh as he did so.

And somehow that was what did it, that unfinished gesture, but even more than that, that soft sigh. Ermal couldn’t tell what it was, what that sigh told him, not in words, but it did give him that courage that he needed to do this. It gave him a little bit of hope that Fabrizio was just as affected by him as he was by Fabrizio. It was time to risk it all.

“Maybe you can help, yes…” he said, sitting up against the headboard, much like Fabrizio had been sitting when Ermal came back from the children’s room before. Much like Fabrizio moved to sit now, following Ermal’s example, clearly giving him all his attention in this moment, not minding his broken night.

“I… There is something,” Ermal started, but paused, and took a deep breath.

He was doing it! He was actually doing it! – Except, doing what exactly?

He faltered. He hadn’t thought of this, not at all, in fact he had spent most of his time lately _not_ thinking about this. He had forbidden himself to think of this, of imagining this, except to imagine the worst outcomes, just to stop his crazy thoughts. Now he was here, and he found himself unprepared. Was he going to tell Fabrizio something? Ask him something? What would give him the best chance of getting his point across, what would give him the best chance of a favourable answer? How _on earth_ was he going to do this?

“You can tell me,” Fabrizio told him, his voice so caring and gentle, “I promise I will help you, if I can. It will be alright.”

Ermal nodded absentmindedly. Of course Fabrizio would say that, and of course he meant it, at least he did now, before he knew what exactly was on Ermal’s mind.

Suddenly, Ermal remembered that thought he had, that resolve he had had on that Italian beach, weeks and weeks ago, even before he and Fabrizio had become friends. He wasn’t sure why it came back to him now, but it was good that it did. He remembered that feeling of wanting to fight for Fabrizio, of not giving up, of not regretting the things he did not do. And he knew that no matter what the outcome would be tonight, there would be the bitterest regret waiting for him if he didn’t say something now. This was the best chance he would get, on their holiday here, where they spent so much time together. He had to tell Fabrizio now, in these circumstances, because at home everything would go back to the way it was, and he would have lost this, this moment of closeness and peace. How was he ever going to find another moment this quiet, with all of Fabrizio’s attention focused only on him?

He wouldn’t, he realized, and that’s why he needed to say something now.

“I’ve been thinking about… impossible things, or so I thought. I told myself I shouldn’t think of them, get over them, and I tried, but it was rather impossible tonight…”

Ermal trailed off again, because as some of those images flashed before his eyes again, he suddenly realized exactly where he was. On a holiday. Sharing a bed with Fabrizio. Was this really a good time and place to confess what he was feeling? Never mind the peace and quiet, what if he was about to ruin their holiday – it wasn’t just _his_ holiday, it was Fabrizio’s, it was the children’s…

And then… Was it really a good idea to tell Fabrizio all this right when he was sharing a _bed_ with him? What would Fabrizio _think_ of that – what if Ermal had this all wrong, no matter Fabrizio had said that _you love who you love, it’s all okay_ , wouldn’t he draw a line somewhere? And surely this whole situation would be crossing that ten times over.

But he had to tell him, he _had_ to. He tried and managed to find back that resolve of giving everything to _try_. He couldn’t back down now, not when he had come so far already, not when so many things whispered to him that he didn’t have this all wrong, that Fabrizio cared for him too…

“Ermal? Impossible things?” Fabrizio prompted gently.

Ermal breathed a deep sigh, and stared at the ceiling. He was glad for the dim room, the darkness enveloping him like a blanket, shielding him. No matter how hard it was, surely it would be a thousand times harder in the harsh light of day. And when would he find another moment with Fabrizio in the dark like this? Again, he wouldn’t.

“I’m starting to hope that maybe they are not so impossible after all. That maybe there is a chance you feel the same as I do. I just have to be brave and tell you. And I know this might be the worst timing and I know there is a chance I am making the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, but I need to do it.”

He took one more deep breath, hoping Fabrizio wouldn’t interrupt now, because if he did all was lost – he had been too obvious already, so an interruption now would surely mean that his next words would not be welcome. So far though, there was only silence, so Ermal continued, hope slowly, so carefully starting to bloom in his chest.

“I am happy to call you my friend. For a time, I thought that that would never be – that is already one thing that once seemed impossible. But Fabrizio, I wish I could call you something else… _I dashur, zemra ime, shpirti im…_ Caro, tesoro , amore mio… Fabrizio, could I call you that? Is that… possible?”

Still, there was no reaction from Fabrizio, except a sharp intake of breath, somewhere around those endearments, and Ermal needed to know what that _meant_. He tore his eyes loose from the ceiling, no matter how safe and secure that was. He had to face the consequences of his speech. Slowly, he turned his head, to look at Fabrizio, but he couldn’t quite make it. He looked at his shoulder instead, he didn’t want to meet Fabrizio’s eyes, afraid of what he might see there, but hopeful too.

“ _Ermal_ ,” Fabrizio started, and Ermal’s breath hitched when Fabrizio spoke his name, because it was different from all other times he’d said it, like there were hidden layers of meaning wrapped up in those familiar sounds. It compelled him to look at Fabrizio, really look at him. He raised his eyes, until he did finally meet Fabrizio’s. It didn’t matter that Fabrizio didn’t say anything else, because even in the darkness, his eyes shined a light that was filled with all the answers Ermal needed.

They sat there, lost in time, faces just a breath apart. Ermal marvelled in the moment. It wasn’t like before, that possibility for a kiss those weeks ago, when he was fighting an inner battle on whether he should kiss Fabrizio or not. No, this time it was already decided. He _would_ kiss Fabrizio, and Fabrizio would most likely kiss him back, that was how far they’d come. And that knowledge charged the moment.

Finally, he could no longer stand the energy building between them. Ermal raised his hand to gently run the backs of his fingers over Fabrizio’s cheek. Fabrizio hitched in a breath, and then Ermal leaned in, finally pressing his lips to Fabrizio’s. He’d meant it as only a short, simple kiss, just to test the waters, but it didn’t go like that.

It didn’t go like that, because it felt too good, and he had waited for this such a long time, wished for this such a long time. He didn’t want to stop this just like that, before it had really begun. And it seemed Fabrizio thought the same, because as soon as the kiss began, he started to move, but not to break it. Oh no, definitely not to break it. One hand he raised to find Ermal’s, now on his neck, and caressed it. The other tangled into Ermal’s hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Their feelings were in that kiss, all those unspoken feelings of the past months. There was also a hint of promise in that kiss, a promise of something more, but they both knew they would not act on it. Not tonight, when everything was still so much at a tipping point. Not tonight with the children so close. Not tonight, but they would have time. Now, they had a whole future together, and that was also promised in that kiss.

Finally, they broke apart, though Fabrizio’s hands kept Ermal close as he gazed into his eyes.

“Ermal,” he breathed again, a smile on his lips and the expression in his face soft, so soft, with a happiness shining from his eyes, “You can call me all that, and more if you want to.”

Ermal returned his smile, and then let himself fall forward, hiding his face in Fabrizio’s neck, finding a safe space in Fabrizio’s arms that gladly took on that task.

“I had hoped for this,” Fabrizio whispered, as one hand ran through Ermal’s curls again.

“Me too, for so long, and I had never expected…” Ermal answered, and felt Fabrizio’s arms tighten around him. Suddenly, it was all too much, all the emotions swirling through his body in the last few hours, the crushing doubt, the treacherous hope, the overwhelming happiness, combined with that total lack of sleep, and it was just too much. Ermal felt hot tears spring in his eyes, overflowing and running down his cheeks.

“Ermal?” Fabrizio asked, who had noticed it too, “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Ermal whispered, and he sniffed his nose. “I just hadn’t expected this, and I’m so _happy_. _You_ make me so happy.”

Fabrizio pulled him close again. “And you me. God, I thought I didn’t have a chance at all… - But this is not the time to talk about this. We will have time for that, so much time. Come,” he said, and gently peeled Ermal from him, wiping the tears from his face and then kissing first his eyelids and then his lips again.

“I think it’s time for you to sleep for a while, no?”

Ermal could only nod, because Fabrizio was right, and no matter that he wanted to stay awake and marvel in all these new-found possibilities, his tiredness was catching up to him. Fabrizio nodded back, and tugged up Ermal to fluff up his pillows so he could lay down again. Then he did the same for his own, and positioned them so that he was spooning Ermal, one arm swung over him to keep him close, palm flat on Ermal’s chest to feel his heart beating. He pressed one last kiss to Ermal’s temple, and then settled down himself.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” Fabrizio asked softly.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I can,” Ermal replied, moving just a little bit to be more comfortable, to feel Fabrizio next to him, because he could, now. “And you?”

“Even better than before,” came the answer, “Sleep well, amore.”

And Ermal indeed fell asleep immediately, a smile on his face as Fabrizio’s last word registered just before he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooop, finally I made good on that promise. Now, I struggled a bit with Ermal getting his words right and then Fabri getting his words right, so I'd love to know your thoughts!
> 
> And there's something else. I would like your help. Now that we have these two idiots finally on one page, it's time for me to tell you that their holiday, and with that, this story will soon end. I have an epilogue planned with some scenes of their future life back in Rome, just little (if I manage, let's not kid anyone) snap shots of what's going on. If there's anything you'd like to see, things you wonder about, people you'd like to see once more, please let me know in the comments or a dm or idk send a letter by pigeon. 
> 
> I can't promise anything but I'd love to try to fit it in to reward you all for reading and surviving this absolute monster of a fic (60K, can yo belieeeve?). So, any ideas, let me know! :D <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So those two idiots finally know what they feel for each other, and have finally figured out that it's actually mutual. Now, what's next? There's also still a holiday to finish.

Ermal awoke later than he normally did, but maybe it was not so surprising after the night he had just had, and the one before. He was running on less sleep even than usual for him, and it was slowly catching up with him. Of course, another reason that he awoke late might be because of how _comfortable_ he was.

Slowly, he became aware of his exact surroundings. It was the same hotel room he had gone to bed in last night, yes, but after all that had happened, it wasn’t quite the same now. He and Fabrizio were no longer on their own sides of the bed. Instead, Fabrizio had somehow moved his pillows to the middle of the bed, lying there, spread out. It would have pushed Ermal to the side of the mattress, if only he was actually next to Fabrizio. He wasn’t, not quite. Because where Fabrizio had only moved his pillows, Ermal had rather given up on his, and made Fabrizio a place to rest his head.

He moved to look up, maybe to apologize, but all he got was a quick glance of a soft smile, before warm arms enveloped him and hugged him close, trapping him in place. Ermal couldn’t say he minded. One hand was tracing patterns on his arm, tickling just a little, while the other was running through his curls. Usually, he didn’t like people touching his hair, but like this, with Fabrizio, it felt like heaven.

“Good morning,” he whispered, moving just a little to free his arms, and started an exploration of his own. It was a slight pity that Fabrizio was wearing pyjamas, but really, Ermal couldn’t be bothered by it now. Even with a shirt on, this was so much more territory that he never had expected to have access to. Finally, he found one of those tattooed arms, and finally he could trace those intriguing colours on Fabrizio’s skin.

“It very much is,” came a slightly late reply, and it sounded just the littlest bit shaky. Ermal smiled into Fabrizio’s chest. Everything felt magical, but also real, somehow, because this was the only perfect place for him to be. And it was real, even though it was still hard to believe it, after those weeks and months of just hoping and dreaming. 

They stayed there, in silence, but their touches spoke for themselves. Ermal didn’t quite know how much time was passing, but he found he didn’t care. He just wanted to stay there, breathing in tandem with Fabrizio, feeling his warmth all around him, enveloping him, keeping him safe, showing him that he belonged exactly here.

Suddenly, though, their peace was rudely shattered, as the door leading to the children’s room flew open. In a reflex, Ermal looked up only to freeze there, and he felt Fabrizio’s hands still too. Again, it was Libero who was coming into the room.

“Papa, which pants should I wear today? I only have a pair of jeans and a pair of shorts left… What would be better on the plane, will it be cold- _oh_.”

Libero stopped, and Ermal could imagine what he saw. It was rather a big change from last night, when he had come in after Anita’s nightmare, and the sunlight filtering through the curtains did nothing to hide it. Hide them.

Ermal panicked, he couldn’t help it, it was something they had not talked about, about them, about what they would be, about anything beyond this night. He scrambled up, sitting up against the headboard again, pulling the blanket with him as if it could shield him.

At Ermal’s movement, also Libero could move again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, blinking his eyes, and turned to go, leave them in their shattered peace.

“Wait, Libero,” Fabrizio called out, also sitting up, and he sounded more composed than Ermal felt, maybe even more composed than Ermal objectively felt the situation warranted, if he could have thought even a little bit objectively right now.

“Is Anita awake too? Can you get her? We have something to talk about.”

Libero nodded, and when he had left the room, Fabrizio quickly turned to Ermal.

“Ermal, I’m sorry – please tell me if it’s too much or not what you want-”

It was a miracle Ermal found his voice right now, but he managed. “It is exactly what I want. But…”

Under the covers, Fabrizio’s hand found Ermal’s, and squeezed it. “I promise everything will be alright, okay?”

Ermal didn’t have time to reply to that, as Anita skipped into the room, Libero following a little more slowly. All he could do now was hold on to Fabrizio’s hand and trust him to take the lead.

“Come sit on the bed,” Fabrizio told the children, and they did. Ermal tried to return Anita’s easy smile, but he knew he failed slightly. Fabrizio could tell him all he wanted that it was going to be okay, but what if it wasn’t?

“Ermal and I have something to tell you,” Fabrizio started, and Ermal found it so difficult to just listen and wait how it would turn out. And yet, that was all he could do.

“You know how sometimes, people are friends, really good friends, a special kind of friends, and they want to spend their time together, and touch each other, and do things together?”

“Like Ariel and Eric!” Anita supplied after a brief pause, happy that she understood what Fabrizio was talking about.

“Like you and mama used to be?” Libero suggested, thinking in another direction, and even Fabrizio froze for a split second in the middle of his nodding that he’d started after Anita’s words. He glanced at Ermal who hadn’t moved at that, who also was frozen now, who was scared now. Bringing up his mother surely was not a good sign, right? Ermal felt Fabrizio squeeze his hand comfortingly under the blanket, and he was glad for that bit of contact, especially now when their new-found dream already seemed to start falling apart.

“Yes, like that,” Fabrizio continued softly after a deep breath, “Well, Ermal and I, we realized we feel like that about each other. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

There was a brief silence in the room, and Ermal forced himself to look at the children, even though he wanted nothing more than hide under the blanket and pretend nothing was happening. This wasn’t what he thought about when he thought about telling Fabrizio his feelings. He hadn’t even thought about what it all would mean, what they would have to face.

Libero was just nodding as an answer to Fabrizio’s question, while Anita still looked a little thoughtful. Finally, she looked up a little shyly, alternating her gaze between Fabrizio and Ermal.

“Can I ask something?” she said, eyes wide. Both Fabrizio and Ermal nodded at her, the latter just a little afraid of what she might have on her mind. It didn’t get any better when he heard her first words.

“It’s a question for you, Ermal. Do you love papa?” Anita asked, her face serious. Ermal felt himself blush and he didn’t want to look at Fabrizio. It wasn’t a difficult question, though, in fact, it was very easy, with a very simple answer.

“Yes,” he said, and his hand tightened around Fabrizio’s, as if to say “Stay, I know this is too much, too soon, but please stay, don’t go”. He wished he could have told Fabrizio this under different circumstances, later, just the two of them, or at least tell him directly, actually face to face... Not dropped into a conversation like this, where it made his feelings seem so insignificant. But it was a valid question, and Anita and Libero deserved the truth. Fabrizio deserved the truth.

Anita nodded solemnly, and then turned her face a little to look at Fabrizio.

“And papa, do you love Ermal?”

Fabrizio’s response to that same question was just as quick and short and clear as Ermal’s had been.

“I do.” It was accompanied by another squeeze of Ermal’s hand, and it settled something in Ermal’s chest, a certainty, that that would be enough, and that they could overcome anything, as long as they were together.

“Good!” Anita said, clapping her hands together, “Then everything is okay!”

Fabrizio smiled at her.

“Do you have any other questions? Libero, what about you?”

Libero nodded thoughtfully. “But… Will anything be different now? At home?”

Fabrizio paused for a second, a little taken aback by that question, thinking about it, and thinking about the best way to answer it. Ermal stayed silent too, glad that Fabrizio was doing the talking, and doing such a good job of it. He really had no idea how to deal with this, especially not with this question, not after Libero’s comment just before…

“For you two, not really,” Fabrizio finally said. “Most things will stay the same as they are now. Ermal will probably be around a bit more. And sometimes we might cuddle like this or hold hands. Would that be okay?”

Anita only nodded, she didn’t seem to find it a very big deal.

“Libero?” Fabrizio then asked, knowing his son would understand more about the implications.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be okay?” he only answered, shrugging, but smiling too. It settled the worry in Ermal’s chest a little bit, because he knew Libero well enough that he would speak his mind, knowing that he would be listened to. Still, it didn’t disappear completely, but this acceptance now was something they could work with. Together, he and Fabrizio, he and Libero.

“I have another question!” Anita then said, and dropped her voice to a whisper when she continued, “Papa, do you and Ermal kiss, like Ariel and Eric kiss?”

There was another silence, and for the first time this morning, Fabrizio seemed to be at a loss of what to do, and finally, Ermal found the strength to help him out. He didn’t want to answer the question, not with how it had been directed at Fabrizio so clearly, but he could support him, give him that silent support like Fabrizio had done this whole time for him. Ermal squeezed his hand, hoping Fabrizio would understand the gesture. And it seemed he did, because he squeezed back, and then looked at Anita with a more determined look in his eyes.

“Yes, we do sometimes,” he then answered, and turned to Ermal, with a look in his eyes that still asked whether Ermal was okay, okay with all of this. Ermal was definitely okay, more than okay, and to show Fabrizio exactly that, he leaned in and dropped a chaste kiss on his lips. It was no more than a peck, but as they parted, he could sense the beginning of Fabrizio’s smile.

Libero groaned and let himself fall backwards on the mattress, while Anita just giggled, both at the answer to her question and her brother’s reaction.

“Is there anything else you want to know? If there’s anything you want to talk about, or think of, or worry about, I want you to come to me, yes? Or to Ermal, but talk to us, okay?” Fabrizio said, though he knew that this conversation had come to an end now. Like he had told Ermal, everything would be alright. No doubt there were some things to get used to, but they would be fine. Right now, it was important to show the children that really, nothing had changed. He was still there for them, would always be there for them. And Anita’s next question gave him the perfect opportunity to show exactly that.

“Can we have a dog now? A dog like Max? Please, papa?”

“No, Anita, we still won’t get a dog.”

“Oh. Well, can we have breakfast then? I’m hungry.”

Fabrizio squeezed Ermal’s hand one more time, and let it go. He looked at Anita then, and smiled a playful smile, but a dangerous smile.

“You know who’s hungry? The big bad wolf!”

It was clear she knew what was going to happen, because she started giggling and squealing, trying to get out of Fabrizio’s reach, but she wasn’t quick enough. Fabrizio reached out and lifted her, swinging her through the air and when she fell on the mattress again, he started tickling her, with Anita squirming, laughing, out of breath.

Ermal looked on, at first a little confused, but quickly very fondly, and he marvelled at the fact that he was a part of this, that he now was really a part of this, something so intimate. He’d seen Fabrizio playful before, and playing with the children, but it had never been quite as relaxed and carefree as this before.

They got dressed not much later, and made their way down for breakfast. In all that, there wasn’t more time than for Fabrizio to quickly hug Ermal and put a steadying kiss on his neck.

“That went well, didn’t it? I told you it would!”

Ermal returned the hug, and nodded. As Fabrizio moved on to help Anita with her shoes though, Ermal sighed softly, letting his eyes wander to Libero. He didn’t seem too upset, and Fabrizio seemed convinced he was alright too, but still, that comment Libero had made about Fabrizio and Giada… Ermal knew that he didn’t need to be worried or jealous about Fabrizio’s feelings, but he was worried about the children.

He knew they liked him, but there was a large difference between just a family friend occasionally around, and your father’s new partner… Especially Libero, he was old enough to remember his parents being together. What if he felt Ermal was trying to replace Giada, take in the place she once had? Maybe it was all the fairy tale references Anita kept making, but what if the children saw him as the evil stepmother here? Ermal had to talk to Libero, that was the first step, and he hoped he would have time for that sometime today.

At breakfast, Fabrizio went over the plan for the day. They didn’t have much of the highlights left, not with the busy days they’d already had, so today they would first visit the main museum, and then just see what else there was to do in the time they had left.

They walked through the streets, taking a scenic route, even though they’d seen those streets before. At the museum, they paid the entrance fee and got quests for Libero and Anita. The questions and directions were in English, but that was not a problem with Ermal around. The four of them followed the route, Ermal translating, and Libero and Anita solved the questions as they went.

They started in Denmark’s history with an exhibition on the prehistoric people’s living in the area, and moved on to Vikings and then further through the centuries. Other exhibitions didn’t just take them through time, but also across continents.

Fabrizio and Anita were admiring some Inuit clothing, and talking about how life might be in places as cold as the North Pole. Ermal walked by, smiling at their conversation, and saw his chance to talk to Libero. He found the boy in the next room, looking at some impressive Inuit masks.

“Those are cool, aren’t they?” Ermal started, when he was standing next to Libero. He didn’t quite know how to continue, how to change the topic, where to start. In silence, they were standing there, Ermal reading the sign next to the masks, translating it. Libero pointed at some statues with rather scary faces he’d also seen, and for a while they talked about the exhibition.

When it looked like Libero was ready to move on, trying to find a way back to Fabrizio and Anita, Ermal knew that he had to do something now, or this chance would be lost. He stopped Libero with a quick hand to his shoulder, a hand that he was just as quick to remove again.

“Libero, wait, I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

Libero turned and looked at him. “Yes?”

“About this morning.”

“Oh. I – I’m sorry I came in, I should have knocked-” Libero started, but Ermal was quick to interrupt him, leading them to something that might or might not be a bench, something that they might or might not be allowed to sit on… He would find out when the guard making rounds came back, but right now Libero was more important.

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant, Libero, don’t apologize for that, papa and I, both of us, we will always be there for you when you need us, no matter what. We will always have time, and you can always come to talk to us, _always_. Yes?”

Libero nodded, seriously, clearly having picked up Ermal’s tone, and his insistence. He then only looked at Ermal with questions in his eyes, and Ermal knew he had to get to the point.

“What I wanted to talk about, well, do you remember what you said when papa started to explain about… me and him?”

Libero didn’t answer, only kept looking, so Ermal tried again.

“Anita mentioned Ariel and Eric, from the fairy tale, and you…”

“I said like papa and mama…”

“Exactly…” Ermal paused briefly, taking a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain what he was worried about. “Libero, I know your mama and papa are still good friends, and that will not change. I promise that. I promise that nothing between you and Anita and papa will change, okay? And also nothing between you and mama. You don’t have to be scared of that, it won’t change even though I’m there as well…” Ermal trailed off, he didn’t really know if he had made himself clear enough, but he also didn’t know what else to say.

“I know that. I’m not scared of that,” Libero said only, and nothing else.

“Okay. That’s… good. Well, if there is something, anything you are worried about, talk to us, yes?”

Libero nodded, and scrambled off, joining Anita where she was admiring a kayak, Fabrizio staring at the sign, to tell her about it, but it looked like he didn’t get much. Ermal sighed, but then walked over, leaning on Fabrizio’s shoulder to read the sign. He needed that little bit of contact now, because he wasn’t quite sure if his conversation with Libero had accomplished what he intended it to. Libero had said he wasn’t scared of anything changing, but that wasn’t the same as being happy with having Ermal around in a role so much more significant than just a simple friend of Fabrizio’s…

“Are you okay?” Fabrizio asked, picking up on his mood. Ermal only nodded bravely. There was nothing wrong, not really, nothing concrete at least, and he wasn’t going to ruin their last day of holidays with his silly worries. They could sort that out back home.

“Everything is fine,” he added, and started to turn away then, because he knew that his attempt at a smile would show that things were not. He didn’t want to bother Fabrizio, not now, and he knew his children better than Ermal did. If he said they were okay with Ermal, then Ermal had to trust they were. Still, he wanted to keep Fabrizio close right now, and shyly reached out, touching his hand until Fabrizio took his, and they made their way through the museum together.

They had reached the children’s part of the museum, and Libero was trying out a Viking sword, while Fabrizio was taking some pictures. Then Anita tugged her dad along, because she wanted to sit on the wooden horse in the exhibition, like a real knight, and she needed Fabrizio’s help getting on.

Ermal watched them go, a smile on his face. He was enjoying himself, worries aside. It was nice to be joining Fabrizio and his children here, and he found that what Fabrizio had said to Libero and Anita this morning was true, nothing much had changed. If Ermal looked back on yesterday and compared it to today, really the only difference was that today he could actually reach out and touch Fabrizio when he wanted to, without having to stop himself.

It was when he was lost in those thoughts, that Ermal felt a soft touch on his arm. He looked up, and found Libero shyly looking at him.

“Ermal?”

Something in his voice and in his expression showed that he had something important on his mind, so Ermal led them towards a bench in a quiet corner of the room.

“What is it, Libero?”

“I… I just wanted to say that… I didn’t mention mama to compare you to her or anything, or to make you feel like you’re not… the right person?” Libero ended in a question, clearly looking for the right words to explain, so Ermal just stayed silent, giving him he time to continue. He did a little time later. “I just wanted Anita to know what papa really meant, that it’s real and more serious than just a fairy tale… And I thought my example would help her, but I didn’t think that you would think you weren’t welcome… I’m sorry.”

He trailed off again, but now it was Ermal looking for words. Because how to respond to this? He didn’t know, and Libero beat him to it, continuing again.

“Actually, I’m really glad it’s you, Ermal,” he said simply, looking up and meeting Ermal’s eyes.

“I – That makes me really happy,” Ermal could only reply, hoping Libero would understand that it really, truly did. He ignored the lump in his throat, and tried to blink his tears away, but a few still fell, especially when Libero slid over towards him on the bench and let himself fall into a hug, trusting that Ermal would catch him. And that’s exactly what he did, of course he did. It’s what he would always do, for as long as he was allowed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, another chapter (and another updated chapter count - what can I say?). After this one more chapter to finish the story, and then the planned epilogue (and a vaguely planned second epilogue, what do you mean, I can't let this story go?). Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I had never ever expected this to be so long, and I just want to thank you for your support. I really hope you also enjoyed this chapter, and if you would tell me your thoughts, I'd be forever grateful!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day continues, and at least now Ermal knows where he stands. They have just a last half day to fill in Copenhagen, before it's time to travel back to Italy...

That’s how Fabrizio and Anita found them a minute or so later. Ermal knew that they were there, because Anita didn’t hesitate, but ran up to him and Libero, to join their hug. Both of them made space for her, including her happily. Finally, the children unwrapped themselves, and Ermal sat up again.

Fabrizio only looked at them, the softest, happiest smile on his face. Ermal felt a blush creep up his cheeks as their eyes met when both children finally scrambled up again. That look just felt so intimate, and it wasn't uncomfortable, not at all, he loved it that Fabrizio wanted to look at him like that, but really, it hadn't even been a day, and it was a lot to wrap his head around, that he had all this, that all this was even possible.

They made their way out of the museum and then looked for a place to get some takeaway lunch. There was no reason to waste time sitting at a table in a restaurant waiting for their food, when they could enjoy the sun and the city in some park.

And that’s exactly what they did, enjoy the sun in a park. They found a great spot, just in the half shade under a tree, and settled down on the grass. They ate their food, chatting between bites. Ermal could relax now, he knew that he was in the right place, that he had a place at all in this family, and that he was accepted by the children, both the children.

He happened to meet Fabrizio’s eyes, and smiled. It was a reflex, he could not help himself. He had been smiling a lot these past few days and his cheeks started to hurt a bit. That didn’t matter though, he had every reason to smile, especially now.

Finally, their food was gone, and Anita and Libero got up to play, first playing tag with the two of them, then moving on to the playground just down a small hill. Ermal let himself fall back, lying down on the grass, and stared at the blue sky above him. Smiling again. He was happy.

Suddenly, he felt the soft touch of fingers moving down his arm. He turned his head, and found Fabrizio, who had lain down in the grass beside him.

“Is everything alright?” he asked softly, looking at Ermal.

“Everything is absolutely perfect,” Ermal whispered, staring back. Fabrizio’s fingers had reached his hand, and Ermal bent his own to meet them, to pull them close, and intertwine their fingers. They stayed like that for a little while, just lying there, and enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere around them.

After a while, the sun had moved so that Ermal found it shining into his eyes in rather an annoying way. He turned to his side, gently releasing Fabrizio’s hand so he could support his head. He missed the contact, but he couldn’t complain, because now he could look. He slowly let his eyes roam over Fabrizio, who had his eyes closed, starting with his tousled hair. From this close, Ermal could see the silver running through the black. He wondered how Fabrizio would look with even more of the lighter colour in his hair. Then he moved on, taking in his eyes with its lashes resting on the bags below his eyes. Those bags, those might have been partially Ermal’s fault, keeping Fabrizio awake with his confession in the middle of the night. Still, no doubt Fabrizio would agree that it had been worth it. Then Fabrizio’s cheeks, with its freckles and its stubble.

Ermal then glanced around him, finding Anita and Libero still amusing themselves in the playground, showing no sign of necessarily wanting to move on from here. Good, because neither did Ermal. He turned his attention back to Fabrizio, who hadn’t moved. Was he asleep? Or just enjoying the peace and warm air? Ermal plucked at the grass, giving in to the childish impulse to trace some blades over Fabrizio’s face, tickling him.

He clearly wasn’t asleep, as his nose crinkled at the sensation and he lazily opened his eyes.

“Do you have to do that?” he asked, his words filled with fond resignation.

“Yes,” Ermal smiled back. He continued for a little while, until he realized that much more than running blades of grass over Fabrizio’s face, he would like to let his fingers follow those same paths. And so he did, dropping the grass, and letting his fingertips explore Fabrizio’s temples, his cheeks, across the stubble and up over his forehead.

Fabrizio only looked back at him, eyes steady, until finally he pushed himself up slightly, and reached out to lay his hand softly on Ermal’s cheek. Ermal chose to see this as an invitation, leaning down slowly, until his lips touched Fabrizio’s. Fabrizio’s hand slipped into his hair, and giving him the chance to pull Ermal closer. That was something Ermal did not mind either, and he manoeuvred himself into a better position. Grass stains were a later issue, and would be worth this anyway.

Like that, they continued, with soft kisses and softer touches, some sweet whispers added to the mix, until they heard Libero and Anita’s voices come closer. Fabrizio sat up again, letting a quick glance fly over both his children to see if all was as it should be. It was, they looked a bit dishevelled, but that was only to be expected.

They let themselves fall on the ground, Libero sitting with pulled up knees, and Anita laying down with her head on Ermal’s stomach. He looked up in surprise, but then settled back down with his curls in the grass. It wasn’t something that he’d expected, but something he could accept without any problems.

“Who wants an ice cream?” Fabrizio asked after a minute or so, and got the enthusiastic reactions he had hoped for.

“Ermal?”

“Yes, please!”

Fabrizio nodded and made his way through the park to a stall that sold ice cream. Libero watched him go for a second, and then turned to Ermal.

“Can you whistle on grass? Mama can, but papa can’t.”

At that, Anita sat up, looking expectedly up at Ermal who pushed himself up too.

“If I can whistle on grass? You bet I can!”

He looked around for a suitable blade of grass, long and wide enough so he would be able to hold it, found one, and folded it between his hands. Then he blew, and the shrill tone pierced the air. Libero grinned at him, and Anita clapped her hands in delight.

“Can you teach us?”

Ermal nodded, and showed the children how to keep the grass between their hands so it would allow them to whistle. And that was the scene Fabrizio came back to, his hands full of ice cream that had started to melt just a little. He handed them out quickly and sat down again. The four of them enjoyed their ice cream, and after that they moved on from the park, but not before giving each other a once-over to check for stray grass clinging to their clothes. Or rather, to spend quite some time going through someone’s curls to get out all the little leaves. Fabrizio didn’t seem to mind, and neither did Ermal, leaning into the touch and sighing a bit sadly when it was over.

They walked down random streets, enjoying this feeling of not having anywhere to go, anywhere to be, no time pressure at all. Fabrizio and Ermal let the children go in front of them, letting them choose where to go. They just followed them, and at some point their hands had found each other, swinging between them. There was something of a wild abandon to their behaviour, like teenagers in love for the first time, in the park earlier, and walking the streets now. They didn’t speak of it, but both knew that in Italy they wouldn’t have this, there they had to be so much more careful of where they were, of who saw them... In an unspoken agreement they decided to make the most of this last day of their holiday, in a country where no one knew them, and hardly anyone cared at all what they were doing.

Somehow they had made it to the city’s main train station, dodging travellers with suitcases and rushed business men in suits.

“Ermal, don’t you want to take pictures for your keychain?” Libero suddenly said, pointing at the little self-service photo booth in the hall of the station.

Ermal looked, and thought, and nodded. He was pretty sure that those would be the exact size of his keychain, and his grandmother would no doubt be very happy to get some recent pictures, even holiday pictures.

“Do you mind?” he asked Fabrizio, nodding at the booth.

“Of course not, we’ll just wait here!”

Ermal threw him a smile and made his way to the booth, and tried to figure out how it worked. The instructions were on the wall inside, so he sat on the little stool and stared at them. No English, of course not, why make it easy for the foreigners in a train station. Still, the pictures were clear enough, and he figured out how to make some pictures. It didn’t quite go as planned, as the string of four different pictures came out twice. Not a big deal, he could send some to his mother too.

He sat there on the stool, looking at the pictures. They were nice pictures, he looked good. He looked happy. And yet, something was missing. His life had changed in the past few days. It was no longer him on his own, always alone. And shouldn’t those pictures reflect that?

He stuck his head out of the gap framed by a little curtain, looking around until he had found Fabrizio. Somehow, he managed to catch his attention and beckoned him over.

“Don’t you… Would you maybe want to join me? You and the children?”

Fabrizio looked at him for a second, then a smile spread across his face.

“Of course.”

He called over Anita and Libero, and the four of them squeezed themselves into the small booth. Ermal took the stool again, with Libero and Anita each on a knee, his arms around them to keep them balanced. Fabrizio folded himself behind Ermal, though there wasn’t much space left. It took some tries to get all four of them in the picture, but then they succeeded. They posed for a picture, again, and again, and when the strings of pictures came out, Ermal showed them to the others, before quickly putting them in his wallet.

“Can’t I have some?” Fabrizio asked, keeping an eye on Libero and Anita who had run off

“No, they’re mine,” Ermal answered with a smile.

Fabrizio only looked at him then, and it seemed he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He bit his lip briefly and shook his head slightly before leaning in for a kiss instead.

After that, before Ermal could ask anything, Fabrizio already moved on.

“Come on, let’s find Libero and Anita before they’ve taken the train somewhere!” He took Ermal’s hand and lead him through the station’s hall towards his children. The four of them wandered around the city streets a bit more, before finding a nice restaurant to spend their last night in Copenhagen. Neither Fabrizio nor Ermal wanted it to end, but it had to, and not only because Anita was basically falling asleep in her chair. They also had to pack at least a little tonight, just to make the morning a little easier.

And that was exactly what Ermal was doing sometime later, going through his suitcase to make sure everything he didn’t need any more was packed well, and all he did was within easy reach. Fabrizio had just put Anita and Libero to bed, and was taking a shower now.

A soft click told Ermal that Fabrizio had returned though, closing the bathroom door behind him.

"All ready for check out?" his voice came from behind Ermal, and he turned to look. He never answered the question, because his thoughts just froze at the scene in front of him. Fabrizio, with his usually so messy hair still a little damp, and currently fiddling with his pyjama shirt, trying to turn it right side out again. That meant he was shirtless, and Ermal's thoughts froze at the sight. His body didn't, though, he got up and slowly stepped across the room until he found himself directly in front of Fabrizio.

He had seen Fabrizio shirtless before, and caught glimpses of his chest through his unbuttoned shirts, but never had he been so free to look, so free to touch. Slowly, Ermal lifted his hand and with just his fingertips traced that tattooed skin that was usually at least partially hidden from view.

Or at least, Ermal had thought he would be free to touch, to slowly explore this little bit of skin that he wanted to know better, but after a few seconds, Fabrizio did a tiny step back.

That movement broke Ermal's spell, and he looked up again, only to find that Fabrizio would not meet his eyes. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Fabrizio was just a little quicker.

"Ermal, please, don't. Not here."

Ermal didn't need Fabrizio's look at the children's door to understand what he meant.

"I know that, Bizio. I wasn't..." he whispered in reply, wondering briefly if he should say more, explain more, but then decided against it.

Instead, he gently took the shirt from Fabrizio's hands and turned it so he could help him put it on. He had meant it as a clear gesture of caring, of showing Fabrizio that he had understood his meaning. What he hadn't taken into account was the fact that it could be quite difficult to dress someone else, especially when the both of them weren't exactly used to that.

So halfway through a fight with getting limbs through the right holes in the fabric that was getting more complicated by the second, Ermal wished he had never started this, he was just making things worse.

Finally, Fabrizio managed to emerge from the shirt as he should, and now it was Ermal who didn't want to meet his eyes. Fabrizio gave him no choice though, as he gently touched his chin so he _had_ to look up.

"Thank you," Fabrizio just said simply, and Ermal knew it wasn't for that disaster with the shirt just now, which left him again being thanked for things anyone would do - or at least, anyone should do.

"Fabrizio, of c-" he started, but stopped when Fabrizio's hand moved to put a silencing finger on his lips. When Ermal fell silent, Fabrizio smiled a soft smile and then let his hand run over Ermal's cheek in a sweet caress.

"Let's go to bed," he said softly, and when Ermal nodded, he ruffled his curls playfully. Ermal stared at him for a second, before padding over to the bed and getting in beside Fabrizio, switching off the light before turning to face Fabrizio.

Immediately, Fabrizio snuggled closer to him, sighing deeply once.

"I can't believe tomorrow our holiday is over," he whispered into the dark room.

"Our holiday," Ermal could only echo. It hadn't been their holiday, not really, and he had great memories of the previous two weeks when he’d explored Europe on his own, but they also felt like a lifetime ago already.

"Bizio, what did you think when you saw me?"

Fabrzio was silent for a second, thinking over the question.

“Well, of course, it was Anita who saw you first, so I was mostly trying to keep her close. She found it rather hard to understand that not all planes from Rome go to Denmark, and it might have happened, say, twice before, that I had to apologize random men who were very confused as to why they suddenly had a little girl hugging their legs.”

Ermal chuckled, imagining a flustered Fabrizio trying to explain that situation with his limited language skills and at the same time trying to reign Anita in.

“And when you saw I was alone? I mean, me and Marco, why did you think… You only saw us together, what, twice?” Ermal asked, finally asking that question he had been wondering about for days now.

Fabrizio didn’t answer, he just turned to face the ceiling instead of Ermal. Was he really still so embarrassed about that? Or was there something else? Ermal didn’t know how to continue, what to ask or what to say. He stayed silent, waiting until Fabrizio would say anything. Finally, it came, softly, a little hesitatingly.

“Ermal? Yesterday you said something…” Fabrizio started, trailing off.

“What did I say?” Ermal asked, trying to guess what Fabrizio was referring to, but there were so many options…

“You said… You said you had hoped for _us_ for a long time… How… How long?”

Ermal took a deep breath, that sounded suddenly loud in the room. There was no sound coming from Fabrizio, no movement, even. And how to answer this question?

“Too long,” he finally said, “You had caught my attention after that first meeting, you know, with the mail and you had your shirt on backwards… But then, after everything, it should have told me that we would never have anything. Yet, I kept my foolish hopes. Do you remember that talk we had, where you said you wondered why I was still around, when there was nothing for me to gain?”

Ermal waited until he saw Fabrizio’s nod in the faint light before he continued.

“I told you then, there was friendship to gain, and that is what I got. But even then, there was that possibility, that tiny chance of something more, and I couldn’t put it out of my head.”

It was silent in the room for a while, and Ermal had the feeling something was bothering Fabrizio. But what?

“Bizio?” he tried softly, trying to get any reaction at all.

“But then why, Ermal?” a reply came finally, only a whisper in the dark.

“Why what?” He had a feeling he should know what Fabrizio was referring to, because it sounded like something important

“I know you’re wondering about why I was so convinced you and Marco were together. It’s not just when I saw you at the airport and you told me you were going to Paris. It was something before that… Do you remember that weekend you had locked yourself out and were staying at my place?”

Now it was Ermal’s turn to nod, waiting for Fabrizio to go on, and as the memories started playing in his head, he got an idea of what Fabrizio might be talking about.

“It was so nice to have you around, and I wished so much that it could be something more. And I took that chance. That first evening, I took that chance… I dared to make that first move… And then you… You just evaded it, let me down easy, or so I thought, and you started talking about Marco. About your friend Marco, your good friend, your best friend.” Fabrizio’s voice fell silent, and Ermal closed his eyes. So that evening… Caught up in his own insecurities as he’d been, he had missed that chance.

“Ermal, how was I to interpret that as anything else than that you were together with Marco? And now… You’re telling me that you weren’t, that you also wanted… - So that’s why I’m asking you, why, why did you react like that?”

Ermal took a deep breath before he answered.

“Bizio?” He waited until Fabrizio turned his head to look at him before he continued. “That whole evening I spent telling myself I should keep my feelings under control – keep myself under control. That I was your friend and nothing else. That I shouldn’t ruin it. So then when you did that, I… I guess I just panicked. It was exactly what I wanted, and I thought it wouldn’t mean the same to you… So I couldn’t.”

Ermal looked at Fabrizio, waiting for a reaction, but it didn’t come. He just stared at him, the dark in the room making it impossible to read his expression.

“I’m sorry,” Ermal added a bit sheepishly.

“Don’t be,” Fabrizio’s reply now came quickly. He turned to his side again, facing Ermal, reaching up with a hand to stroke gently over his cheek, trying in vain to tuck some hair behind his ear.

“But it made you feel bad – and all the time we could have had together already!” Ermal objected softly, though not sure why he did, he shouldn’t make this into a discussion, he should hug Fabrizio now that he finally could and be happy.

“It didn’t make me feel bad. Not really. Then it just threw me off for a little, and I was just a tiny bit jealous of Marco, even though I’d never met him. But it mattered more to me that you were happy. And now, well, it came back to me, that night, when you said you weren’t with Marco, never had been… I wondered if I was just making things up, if I really had been that close to risking everything. It made me wonder, it made me insecure. But Ermal, don’t worry about the time we could have had, think about all the time we _will_ have!”

He got ever closer to Ermal, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Everything worked out in the end, didn’t it? And thanks to Anita we even know exactly where we stand,” he added with a slight smile.

Ermal felt a blush creep up his cheeks.

“I meant it, though. I love you,” he said, rushing through it, even though he had told himself this morning that he would tell Fabrizio this in a better way than casually dropped in conversation, though here he was again. He leaned in for a kiss, knowing one sure way to give his words some power, some conviction.

Before he quite made it to Fabrizio’s lips, though, he noticed that the distance seemed to be longer than it should. He paused, and took in Fabrizio. He had just moved out his way, and it puzzled Ermal. The only thing Ermal knew was that it wasn’t because of something bad, not with that smile on Fabrizio’s face. So he paused, and looked, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“I love you too, Ermal,” Fabrizio said softly, simply, like his _I do_ had been that morning. Then he moved his head closer to Ermal again, but didn’t close the gap completely. Ermal waited a bit more, unsure if he could continue his course from before, and there was a soft breathy chuckle from Fabrizio at that.

“You can kiss me now if you want to.”

“Oh, I am not sure I still want to,” Ermal teased, but quickly added, “No, I definitely do, come here.”

Finally he could kiss Fabrizio, and this kiss was more passionate than any before. They knew, both of them knew that they wouldn’t do more than kissing tonight, but right now, this was more than enough.

And they stayed like that, cuddling, kissing, at least until a yawn of Ermal rather interrupted them a little.

“We should sleep,” Fabrizio chuckled, “You’ve hardly slept the past nights.”

“I don’t care, I don’t want to sleep,” Ermal said, a bit petulantly, “I like this.”

“Hmm, do you? But I want to sleep. I like sleep,” Fabrizio teased him, while reaching out a hand and tucking in the blankets around Ermal a bit more.

“Come, sleep, Ermal,” he said, as he did the same as the night before, turning them so he was spooning Ermal. Fabrizio let his hand run through Ermal’s curls for a while until he relaxed, and then put it on Ermal’s chest like before. If this would be a habit from now on, neither was going to complain about it.

They slept, and Ermal slept longer than he had in days. Not necessarily better, yesterday came pretty close, but he slept well too this night. Again, he woke up in Fabrizio’s arms, but this time Fabrizio was still asleep. Ermal took this chance to bask in this warm feeling of protection, of love, of _happiness_.

It didn’t last too long, though, and this time not because they were interrupted by one of the children. Instead, Fabrizio woke up, and the first thing on his mind was that they had a plane to catch, a plane to catch and a lot to do before then. He got up immediately, much to Ermal’s regret. He wouldn’t have minded another slow start like yesterday.

“I wanted to pack more last night, but then I didn’t! And the stuff of the children, I can’t leave anything behind, what if I forget something _important_?” Fabrizio rattled, while looking for the clothes he was going to wear, the clothes he had put aside specifically to be ready sooner…

“You already put them in the bathroom. Go get ready, I’ll wake up Anita and Libero,” Ermal said, sighing softly as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. As Fabrizio disappeared into the bathroom, Ermal did as he had said, going over to the children’s room. Libero was already awake, trying to finish his comic so he could take another one on the plane. Ermal gently shook Anita awake, and had to chuckle when she sat up and her hair resembled Fabrizio’s more than ever.

A bit later he didn’t laugh about that anymore, because then Anita was standing in front of him with a hair brush in one hand, and some hair clips in the other.

“Can you do my hair, Ermal? Papa seems really busy.”

Ermal could only nod, how could he say no? Anita stood in front of him, and he started brushing her hair, trying not to hurt her. Something about it was familiar, how many times had he done exactly this for Sabina when she was young? Still, he didn’t remember Sabina’s hair ever being this stubborn and uncooperative. Finally, though, he was content with the result, and he took the clips from Anita, sliding them into her hair carefully.

“All done! Go have a look if you like it!” he said, smoothing down a few more strands of hair. Anita ran off, and didn’t come back to complain, so Ermal assumed he had done a good job of it. He then checked his watch, there surely was more than enough time left to finish packing and make it to the airport on time. Better have breakfast first, because it looked like Fabrizio was forgetting about that.

Fabrizio agreed after some discussion to eat something before finishing packing, and after breakfast Ermal decided to take Anita and Libero for a last walk through Copenhagen. He wanted to help Fabrizio, but it didn’t seem like he would be very useful there, or convince Fabrizio he wasn’t forgetting anything. If Ermal was to help Fabrizio pack, he would just redo it to be certain everything was as it should be. It would be better to let Fabrizio handle it on his own, and remove any distractions.

They walked through the streets, Libero in front of him and Anita holding on to his hand. They came past a bakery, and at the sight in the window, Anita paused, and stared.

“It all looks so amazing!” she said, eyes wide.

“Come, we can buy something for lunch later! This is going to be much nicer than at the airport!” Ermal said, and walked into the shop, letting the children go first. He waited patiently until they had chosen what they wanted and then chose something he thought Fabrizio would like and something for himself as well.

As he paid, the lady at the counter asked him if maybe she could offer his children a biscuit for now. It took Ermal a second to get over that, _his children_ , before he accepted, and translated for Libero and Anita. They were just as enthusiastic as he thought they’d be, and he shared a smile with the kind lady.

They made their way back to the hotel, clutching the bags with their lunch. Ermal was relieved to find packed suitcases and a much more relaxed Fabrizio. He greeted them, admired the lunch that he was now already looking forward to, and then asked Libero and Anita to pick up their last few things and check if he hadn’t forgotten anything. Ermal did the same, making a quick round through the bathroom and the bedroom, and then joined Fabrizio, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him.

“I’m sorry, I can go a bit crazy about these things,” Fabrizio said softly, not looking at Ermal.

“Bizio,” Ermal answered, putting his hand on Fabrizio’s knee until he was sure he had his attention. “Don’t, it’s okay, don’t apologize for that.”

Fabrizio looked up at him gratefully, a smile slowly starting to appear on his face. “Thank you. Also for taking the children, usually this is all much more chaotic.”

Ermal sighed softly, and then pulled Fabrizio into a hug. One of these days he would have to talk to Fabrizio about stopping to thank him for all these things he did not need to be thanked for, but for now he could accept it, and just make sure that Fabrizio was okay.

A little less than an hour later, they had made it to the airport. They were early, but they had to wait somewhere, and both Fabrizio and Ermal agreed the airport was a better option than the hotel room. At least there was more to see there, more to entertain the children there, and they wouldn’t have to worry about any issues with their transportation popping up.

It was a miracle they happened to have booked the same flight home, just like this whole meeting in Copenhagen had been the biggest coincidence, but of course their seats were on opposite ends of the plane. Having enough time and a slight chance to change that, they went up to the customer service desk, where Ermal quickly explained the situation and asked if anything was possible so that he would be closer to Fabrizio and the children.

The lady clicked around on her computer, only to come up with an apologetic smile on her face.

“I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you, all passengers with seats around there have already checked in.”

“It’s no problem, it’s just two and a half hours, thank you for checking,” Ermal answered with a brave smile, but feeling the disappointment settle in his chest as they walked away. Fabrizio reached for his hand. Ermal squeezed it, but the thoughts in his mind were on the idea that their holiday was now really coming to an end. Things were going to be different back in Italy. So much had changed from when he left, for the better, definitely for the better, but things were going to change again between what he and Fabrizio had in Copenhagen and what they would have in Italy. And now he would just have the whole plane ride to come to terms with that.

Somehow, time seemed to fly by until they could board the plane. Fabrizio hugged Ermal as if he was not going to see him again, instead of landing in the same country in a few hours. Libero and Anita caught that mood, and so Ermal spent his last minutes in the Danish airport crouched on the ground with two children hugging him, his arms around them.

“You’ll see me again soon, we’re even on the same plane! This is not a goodbye!” he tried to comfort them.

Finally, it was really time to board, they couldn’t put it off anymore. Buckled in his seat at the back of the plane, next to the window, Ermal stared at the landscape passing by way below. Things would be different, yes, but things would be amazing, he and Fabrizio could make this work.

Midway through the flight, Ermal got out his wallet, and found the pictures they had made. He looked through them, focusing on the ones that included Fabrizio, Libero and Anita. There was Anita with her gap-toothed smile, Libero pulling the strangest face, Fabrizio making bunny ears behind Anita’s head, and on the last one, leaning in to press a kiss on Ermal’s cheek.

Ermal himself didn’t do anything special in those pictures, he didn’t pose, he just sat in the middle of the picture, surrounded by this family, dare he say it, _his_ family, and he looked happy. And maybe that was special in itself. He didn’t know what life would be like, but if the past two days had been any indication, or rather, if any of the time he spent with Fabrizio since they became friends had been any indication, it would be a happy life indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada, this is it, the full story itself. Whooh, that was a journey, a way longer journey than I could ever have imagined when I started! Thank you to everyone who read, commented, kudoed, and accepted my incessant blabbering about this fic <3 Sarina, thanks for giving me the plot ideas 'plagiarism' and 'jealousy', I don't think any of this is quite what you had in mind, but it still inspired me :). Julia, thanks for all the times I sent you incomprehensible out of context bits and pieces (making both of us cry in the middle of the night) and thanks for always being supportive and helping me out :)
> 
> Now, of course, this is not quite the end. If there's anything you'd like to see in Epilogue 1, of future scenes of these two, let me know! Nothing is quite set in stone yet, so who knows what I can manage to write and fit in there :) Then, more news, there will most likely be a second epilogue, with some scenes from Fabri's POV. So if there's anything about that you'd like to see, also let me know :) Those epilogues should appear soonish!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue 1A, life after Copenhagen :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first epilogue (okay okay, the first part of the first epilogue, chapter count is updated, again), three scenes about Ermal and Fabrizio's life back in Rome. Each scene has a title in the form of a name of one of the characters, sometimes they're based really loosely on the scene, but I liked it like this. 
> 
> I hope you like it too, and please leave me a comment? :)

**Marco**

They had been home for a few days now, and indeed, very little had changed. In fact, both Ermal and Fabrizio were so busy getting back to work after their holiday, that they had barely had time to see each other. And Ermal missed him. After those days in Copenhagen, after so much time spent together, coming back to his everyday life, to Rome, was a shock.

Tonight, though, was different. It was a sweet balm, because tonight, Ermal and Fabrizio could again spent time together. Ermal had joined him and the children for dinner, one of Fabrizio’s homecooked meals, and he’d loved every minute of it. This right here, was proof that it wasn’t just made up, that it wasn’t just something that had happened because of the coincidence in Denmark. No, it was more than that, it was real.

Now, the children were in bed – not before Ermal promised Anita to sing her the lullaby – and he and Fabrizio had settled on the couch, snuggled up to each other. Fabrizio was going through some fan mail he’d gotten, while Ermal was leafing through a book he had picked up from Fabrizio’s shelves.

He had something on his mind, though, so he softly closed the book, and shifted a bit, so he could look at Fabrizio. Then he took a deep breath.

“Bizio? Marco is coming to Rome again next week. Would you like to… meet him?”

Fabrizio looked up with a frown from the letter in his hands.

“But I’ve met him before?”

“I know, I mean…” Ermal swallowed heavily, but bravely continued, “I mean, do you want to see him and tell him about… _us_?”

There was a weight on that last word that seemed to drag Ermal down with every second Fabrizio did not answer. He had been worried about this, about moving too fast, asking too much, demanding too much commitment… But he was so certain of them, and he hoped Fabrizio felt the same. He _knew_ it wasn’t as easy for Fabrizio, but still, there were people he wanted to share this with, this news, this happiness.

Finally, there was a reply, pulling Ermal back from his thoughts.

“You… haven’t told him about us?” It was spoken in hardly more than a whisper, and Ermal couldn’t help but match that volume when he answered.

“I didn’t know how much you wanted it to be known, it’s not as simple for you as it is for me, I realize that.”

Ermal dared a look at Fabrizio’s face, and only found it staring at him, somehow closed, but also uncomprehending. Did he really have to spell this out?

“I mean, your career – you worked so hard the past months to keep that, to move past everything that happened. I don’t… I don’t want that me being here – being with you – ruins all of that.”

Through that speech, he didn’t keep looking at Fabrizio’s face. He couldn’t. He was too afraid of what he might find there. Relief, maybe, that Ermal understood, that Fabrizio didn’t have to ask it himself. So Ermal stared at the window, his gaze to the dark outside world blocked by the curtains, but that didn’t matter. He could stare at them anyway, if that meant he didn’t have to look at Fabrizio.

Fabrizio didn’t give him any choice though, reaching to cross the small distance between them to turn Ermal’s head with a soft, gentle grip on his chin.

“Ermal, look at me, please? You can tell your friends about us, you can tell your family about us, of course you can.” Fabrizio’s hand had let his chin go, and now ran over Ermal’s cheek in a sweet caress.

Ermal nodded, the feeling in his chest lighter now, but didn’t say anything, because he could see there was something else that Fabrizio was trying to put into words. It took some time coming, and now Fabrizio was the one staring at the obscured window.

“You’re not... Doubting us? Regretting us?” The words came hesitantly, voice even lower than before. “That’s not the reason you haven’t told anyone?

This time it was Ermal who moved, cupping his hands around Fabrizio’s face, turning it until he could look into his eyes intently.

“Never,” he told him, putting all his feelings, all his _love_ into that word, “I would _never_ regret us. I love you, Fabrizio.”

He waited until a shaky smile appeared on Fabrizio’s face before continuing.

“Fabrizio, listen to me, that I haven’t told anyone is _not_ because I don’t want to, God, I want to tell everyone. But we hadn’t talked about that – and I think it’s something we should discuss, especially, you know, because there’s more than just the two of us to consider.”

Fabrizio nodded slowly. There was no denying that.

“But Ermal… Your friends and family, they deserve to know, don’t you think so?”

“Of course. But I couldn’t just… Not without asking you, it’s your career, we both know the media will be all over this at the first rumours. And Anita and Libero – if you want to protect them-“

“Ermal, please, please stop, listen to me for a second. I love how you thought about this, but you’re overthinking this. You are so much more important to me than my career – no, you _are_. You’re a part, a very important part of my personal life, and my work is just that, work. And the choice between the two is simple. I will always choose you.”

Ermal couldn’t reply for a few seconds, Fabrizio’s words coupled with his gaze that was still firmly directed at him was just too intense. Finally though, he managed to find his tongue again.

“But you worked so hard – this year…”

Fabrizio sighed.

“I’ve always worked hard. It’s never been easy. And this year, it was more about the unfairness of it all, none of those accusations were true, that’s what bothered me. Now it would be so different. I mean, It would still be unfair, of course it would, but I could make peace with it as long as I have you. Besides, there will be enough people who would still support me, I know that, and they would make it worthwhile.”

“But… Libero and Anita…” Ermal knew he should stop, it sounded like Fabrizio had thought about these things, like he himself had, and had reached different conclusions, much more agreeable conclusions, and he should trust that his judgement was sound. He should trust Fabrizio could make these assessments better than Ermal could. Why was he still arguing about this? Why was it almost like he was trying to convince Fabrizio that they shouldn’t tell anyone? That was not even what he wanted.

“Libero and Anita will be raised knowing that love is love. Libero and Anita will be okay. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. Ermal, I promise I will do all I can to protect them from the world. But that does not include us not being honest to the people we love. That’s not the example I want to give them.”

Ermal nodded, he could understand Fabrizio’s reasons. And he wanted to believe them, wanted to trust Fabrizio when he said everything would be alright. It was just that Ermal finally had so much, so many things he had for so long not even dared to dream of, and he was so afraid of losing it all. He had never been someone who was just simply so _lucky_.

Fabrizio could apparently read the expression on his face, because he again softly ran his fingers over Ermal’s cheek.

“Everything is good _right now_ , isn’t it?” he started, and waited for Ermal’s nod before continuing. “So we’ll start here, and live our lives, together, and if anything happens, if any problem crops up, we’ll deal with it and solve it, together. We’ll cross those bridges when we get to them. We don’t have to worry about them now, it won’t help.”

Ermal nodded again, a grateful smile on his face, and he let himself melt into Fabrizio’s side, finding a comfortable place there. He felt Fabrizio’s hand settle on his head, fingers running soothing circles across his scalp. Ermal closed his eyes, getting lost in the touch.

“So you’ll tell people?” Fabrizio voice pulled him back to the present.

“I’ll tell everyone I meet. I’ll call my mother tomorrow. Alright? And we can invite Marco over for dinner and he can be disgusted by how in love we are.”

“Sounds perfect,” Fabrizio answered, and even with his eyes still closed, Ermal knew Fabrizio was smiling.

“Good. I love you.”

Fabrizio didn’t reply, at least, he didn’t speak, but Ermal could feel his lips on his forehead, and his arms wrap tighter around him, and that was answer enough.

 

**Mr Borsato**

It had been over a week since Ermal was back, and today it was finally time to have his Saturday afternoon coffee at Mr Borsato’s. He also had been on a holiday, visiting his daughter, but today he was back too, and Ermal knew he was looking forward to hearing all about Ermal’s holiday.

He had taken his pictures with him, to guide his story, with some special pictures at the end he expected to be a surprise. A good surprise, and after his talk with Fabrizio, he knew that it was okay to share his news with his friend – and he had a plan to do so.

So he let himself be ushered into the house, accepting his coffee with a smile, listening to Mr Borsato talk on and on about his own past few weeks. Finally, though, after a top up of coffee and another biscuit, Mr Borsato turned to him with a curious expression on his face.

“Now, Ermal, tell me everything about your holiday! How were those beaches? Sandy?”

Ermal chuckled, and nodded, “Yes, sandy, and stoney, and watery. But it was great! Here, I brought pictures, I’ll show you!”

And he proceeded to tell Mr Borsato everything in detail, handing over picture after picture as the story progressed. The views of the sea, cliffs, sky. Museums and memorials, little villages and wide landscapes. Selfies and the more successful pictures where had asked someone to take a picture of him. He told the stories of the things he’d done, the things he’d seen, the conversations he’d had with the local people he met.

Finally, he came to the part he had been looking forward to. Copenhagen. Ermal just told his story, went over the sightseeing, handing over pictures as he’d done before. Now, he had reached the first pictures that featured not only him, but other people Mr Borsato knew.

“So there is this tower, and for the most part it doesn’t have any stairs, it’s just a slope going up. Here, this are pictures of the view from the top,” Ermal said, handing Mr Borsato a small stack of pictures, with first just the wide views across the city, but then with a picture of him with Fabrizio and Libero and Anita, taken by a helpful fellow tourist.

Mr Borsato was making some general comments on the view, the buildings, and went through the pictures. Ermal couldn’t suppress a smile when he saw that Mr Borsato had reached that picture he had been waiting for. He saw Mr Borsato look at the picture, freeze, do a double take, and then he looked at him.

“Ermal? Is that…?”

“I met them just by coincidence, can you imagine that? I don’t know who was more surprised when Anita suddenly came up to me, me or Fabrizio!”

Ermal smiled again, and he could only hope his face didn’t betray all the things he didn’t want Mr Borsato to know just yet – the pictures would speak for themselves. He let Mr Borsato mumble a bit more about coincidences, evading his questioning looks, answers would be given soon enough, and continued his story about the sightseeing in Copenhagen.

He came to the museum, which he talked about in detail, showing pictures of the things they’d seen there, and spoke vaguely about his last day in the city, how they had gone to the park to just enjoy the peace, the ice cream, each other’s presence.

Each other’s presence. It was time now.

Ermal gave Mr Borsato the remaining stack of pictures, pictures that did include some views of the park, of the blue sky through the tree’s green leaves, of Libero and Anita playing, some of him lying in the grass, but that mostly contained the pictures that Libero had taken without Fabrizio or Ermal knowing. Fabrizio had let him have the camera a few times, so Libero could take some pictures of his own. And he’d done that, capturing buildings, funny scenes, Anita upside down on a climbing frame on a playground, a wonky selfie of the two of them, yes, Libero had taken pictures.

And what he’d also captured were Fabrizio and Ermal, walking hand in hand on the Danish streets, them looking at each other when they thought no one was watching, them cuddling when they thought the same. These were the pictures Mr Borsato was now looking at, combined with those they’d take in the picture booth.

Ermal waited for his reaction, a smile still on his face – no, he wasn’t just smiling, he was beaming. He watched, a little impatiently, as Mr Borsato went through those last pictures once, twice, and again, seemingly unable to really believe what he was seeing. Finally, he looked up, a mirroring smile growing on his face when he saw Ermal’s.

“We’re together, Fabrizio and me,” Ermal said simply, though it didn’t feel simple, it felt like a chord was struck inside him when he said that. He could finally do so, to anyone and everyone who might want to hear it, because now it was true, and it was real.

“You are?” Mr Borsato said softly, though it wasn’t really a question.

Ermal could only nod as an answer though, because yes, he had expected Mr Borsato to be happy for him, after those months and pining he’d done right in front of him, but he hadn’t quite expected _this_ reaction. Mr Borsato’s smile never wavered, it only kept growing until his face threatened to split in two, and surely Ermal was imagining things when he noticed a suspicious shimmer in his eyes?

“Oh, Ermal,” Mr Borsato said, and then got up and pulled Ermal into a bone crushing hug. “I’m so happy for you, my boy! – You _are_ happy, aren’t you?”

Mr Borsato released his hold on Ermal a little to look into his face, more serious now.

Again, Ermal nodded, and whispered, “So very happy,” and he had hardly finished before those arms were back around him, keeping him close, and Mr Borsato kept whispering nonsense into Ermal’s ear, about how happy he was, how proud, how he knew it would all work out. Ermal could only let himself relax in that embrace, feeling cared for, feeling supported, and yes, feeling happy.

**Anita**

Weeks had passed, months even. Fabrizio and him had found a comfortable rhythm that suited the both of them. Somehow, everything had fallen into place in a way that worked.

Right now, Fabrizio was working, while Libero was at school. Ermal had finished his round and was now looking after Anita. He mentally went through the list of products he had just bought on their trip to the grocery store. Nothing frozen, nothing that wouldn't survive a little time outside the fridge. He could make a little detour.

"Anita, would you like to get some ice cream?" he asked the little girl skipping next to him. She looked up at him, a smile starting on her face.

"Come on!" Ermal said and led the way to the gelateria close by. He ordered two cones in their favourite flavours and they sat down on a bench nearby.

For a while, they were eating their ice cream in silence, but then Anita looked up at Ermal and asked a question, a question that he was not expecting at all.

"Ermal, will you come and live with us?"

Ermal froze, and could only just stop himself from blurting out a 'yes', because he wanted to do that, because he had started dreaming about exactly this, and sometimes he almost found enough courage to bring it up to Fabrizio. Almost. 

But now he had to remember this was not an offer, of course it wasn't, this was just a little girl wondering about what was going to happen. So Ermal took a measured breath, and then answered, "That is something papa and I have to talk about,” while wondering if he should add more, ask her opinion, make any reassurances… He didn’t know what to settle on, so just kept quiet.

He didn't know what he had expected Anita's reaction to be, maybe she would ask more questions, but she didn't. Instead, she just nodded wisely and said, "Yes, I'd expect that he'd talk to you next. By the way, your ice cream is melting." 

Ermal looked at his cone, and indeed, his ice was rather dripping and spilling. He hastened to contain the damage, while his mind worked overtime.

_Talk to him_  next? What did that mean? He knew he probably shouldn't ask, this was something to discuss with Fabrizio himself, not with his five-year-old daughter, but it seemed she knew something...

"Talk to me next?" Ermal asked, before he could stop himself.

Anita didn't seem to care, though, eating her ice cream and answering his question without a second thought.

"Yeah, papa asked me what I think about you living with us, and I know he also asked Libero. So it makes sense if he asks you next."

Ermal only nodded at that, because he couldn't quite formulate a response yet. This rather sounded like Fabrizio had put a lot of thought into this question, and was quite serious about it. So yes, it did make a lot of sense if he asked Ermal next.

A smile slowly started on Ermal's lips as he finished his ice cream. Fabrizio could ask him, but any surprise had already been spoiled by Anita. Maybe Ermal should take matters into his own hands. After all, it would be silly to wait, when all he wanted to do was tell Fabrizio 'yes'.

He decided to wait until they were in bed that night. It seemed a good place to bring it up, and he felt safe wrapped up in the dark and Fabrizio's arms.

"Bizio?" Ermal started carefully, "Today, I was out having ice cream with Anita, after we got groceries, and she told me something."

Fabrizio turned to him. "What did she tell you?"

Ermal answered after a short pause, letting some weight gather in the silence.

"She... mentioned a conversation you had with her..."

It took only a few seconds for Fabrizio to understand what it must have been, alerted by Ermal’s tone of voice and unfinished sentence. He let himself fall back in the pillows with a groan, an arm covering his eyes.

"Oh no, she didn't!"

"She did," Ermal said, fighting a smile. He was rather enjoying this, if he was honest.

Fabrizio dragged his arm way and sighed.

"I can't tell you I love you, I can't ask you to move in with me... What am I going to do with that girl?"

"You can tell me you love me," Ermal teased some more, and it earned him a glare.

"I know that and you know I do. But Ermal, what was your answer?"

"I told her I had to talk to you, and she said that I would surely be the next you came to, and Bizio, I know I shouldn't have asked her more, but I couldn't help myself."

Fabrizio only nodded, he could understand. He turned to face Ermal again, because that information had not been what he had been after.

"But Ermal... What _is_ your answer?"

Fabrizio said it a bit hesitatingly, but of course there was no reason to, and Ermal knew he should make that clear to Fabrizio quickly too. So it was with hardly a pause after Fabrizio’s question that he answered, "I would love to move in! Of course I do!"

Fabrizio’s eyes lit up with hope, and a smile started on his lips, only for it to be stopped by his teeth when he bit his lip.

“But Ermal, are you sure? I mean…” Fabrizio trailed off, not voicing any of the worries in his head, those unnecessary worries.

“Bizio, I love you, I love Libero and Anita, I love spending time with you, I’m more at your place anyway than at my own. Of course I would like to live with you, there is not one single reason you can think of why I wouldn’t. Of course I am sure!”

Fabrizio didn’t seem completely convinced yet, so Ermal tried again.

“Anita bringing it up today was not the first time it crossed my mind, Bizio. I have thought about it, and I know you have too. – What did Libero and Anita say?”

At that, a smile appeared on Fabrizio’s face, and he looked at Ermal, seemingly all previous worries forgotten.

“They would love it, really!” He chuckled, “Libero actually asked me what we were waiting for, why you still had your own place when you are hardly ever there. And Anita too, she was so enthusiastic, it was hard to tell her that it wasn’t a certainty yet.”

“But it will be,” Ermal said, though when he met Fabrizio’s eyes, his own showed that it was a question, not a statement. He wanted Fabrizio’s full agreement on this, and not force an end to this decision.

Fabrizio understood, he nodded just slightly.

“It will be,” he echoed, and this _was_ a statement, and Ermal nodded too, smiling, and then kissed Fabrizio, before snuggling closer to him under the covers. He had found a home here.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue 1B.

**Libero**

It wasn’t really as Ermal had imagined it. They were camping, after Anita’s incessant questions to do that with the four of them. Though, they hadn’t made it quite to Denmark. Instead, they had found a place for their tent on a campsite located on the seaside north of Rome. Neither Ermal nor Fabrizio had expected the weather to be a picture perfect image of summer – it wasn’t summer yet, after all, but they hadn’t imagined that it could be this bad. They had been here three days now, and it had only rained, the whole time – with a blessed two hour gap in the rain for them to set up the tent, at least there had been that.

After sitting in the tent for another rainy morning, Ermal started to feel a little cooped up. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, or that he was having a bad time, not at all. Just existing here with Fabrizio and the children, on their own little island – quite literally, amidst all that rain – was really nice and peaceful, and a holiday they deserved.

But right now it was just a bit too much and too monotonous. Ermal didn’t want to read another chapter of the book he had brought, he didn’t want to play another card game. He wanted to _move_ , and not sit folded up in the tent, trying desperately not to touch the canvas to prevent leaks.

So he had gladly volunteered to take Libero and Anita to the indoor activities that the campsite luckily organised for the children. He dropped them off, knowing they were in good hands, and knowing they would be entertained for a while.

Instead of going back to the tent, he took the path down to the beach, wrapped up in a thin plastic rain poncho that would do its job of keeping him dry. He settled down on the wet sand, carefully folding the plastic underneath him. Ermal breathed in the briny air and smiled, staring out across the waves that looked grey today, speckled with white foam, and that were almost indistinguishable from the sky.

It was funny, how calm he felt near the sea, how he felt instantly peaceful as soon as he laid eyes on that endless stretch of water. He sat there, letting his thoughts go where they wanted. After a while, they turned to Fabrizio, of course they did. Fabrizio was just such an important part of Ermal’s life, and he marvelled about how everything went better than he had ever expected.

They had started all this with the best of intentions, with the wish and hope and resolve to make it work, to make them work, together, but didn’t all relationships start like that? That was no guarantee for success, both of them knew that well. It was like a miracle, but he and Fabrizio, it just _worked_. Of course there were days where it was harder, days where one of them was in a bad mood, days when frustrations fought their way between them, days when both their insecurities undermined their relationship, but they always made it through. They knew when to give the other space, when to encourage talking about what was bothering the other. Sometimes, Ermal wondered about how far they had come, from those first meetings, from those first weeks where he was convinced Fabrizio hated him, all the way to this, where no matter what else happened, he knew that Fabrizio loved him.

And also Libero and Anita had adapted to him being around, to him living in the same house as them, to share their family moments, they had accepted him so easily. Of course he had worried about that, no matter what he had told Fabrizio, no matter what the children had told them. Reality would always be different than what they had in mind, and he had been afraid how it would go. All in all, he hadn’t been too worried about Anita, but Libero was a different story.

Ermal knew that the boy would have been honest in giving his opinion when Fabrizio asked him, but again, reality might be different than what he expected. And with his age, he was more aware of what people would think, what his classmates would think. Besides that, soon he would really be a teenager and not want to listen to Fabrizio, let alone to Ermal…

So Ermal had been careful, giving Libero his space, taking his distance, giving him time together with Fabrizio, but now he knew that Libero had not changed his mind at all about him. He had really accepted him, and he respected him.

A smile appeared on Ermal’s face, as he thought of some of his recent interactions with Libero. It made sense that he came to him with things Fabrizio couldn’t help him with, his English homework, for example, or when he joined Ermal watching television when Fabrizio was away at work… But Libero also just wanted to spend time with _him_ , asking if he could come with Ermal when he made his mail round, chatting endlessly about his friends, his classes, football. Asking questions, too, of Ermal, getting to know him. He came to him when Fabrizio was home as well, but still asking Ermal to join in a game, for help, or just to talk.

But the best sign of Libero’s genuine affection had come about two weeks ago. Father’s Day. Ermal hadn’t put much thought into it, he had always tried to treat this day like nothing special, like any other, not wanting to pause at it, but now everything had changed. He had realized in time that he should help the children find a present for Fabrizio, and he talked to Giada too, not sure what her role would be, and what he could do without imposing on the family’s traditions. She had answered his questions with a strange smile that he could not understand – at least not until the day itself brought answers.

He had planned to get up early and make breakfast for Fabrizio together with Libero and Anita, but for some reason his alarm clock never rang, despite him being sure that he had really set it well the night before.

Instead, he woke up at the same time as Fabrizio, as Anita came in bearing a tray, her face proud and beaming. There were croissants and cake, orange juice and little pieces of chocolate. Libero followed behind her, concentrated on carrying two steaming cups of coffee, so very carefully.

Ermal could only look, speechless, as Fabrizio had found his hand, caressing it with his thumb. Anita put the tray on Fabrizio’s bedside table, and then climbed onto the bed to settle between Ermal and Fabrizio. Libero put the coffee on Ermal’s nightstand, and then ran out of the room to reappear a few second later with a bag, and then also joined them on the bed. He looked at Anita, counted silently to three, and then both children exclaimed, “Happy Fathers’ Day!”

Ermal still was frozen, his mind having trouble catching up that this was also for him. Fabrizio luckily had no such trouble, saying soft thanks and wrapping up Anita in a hug. She let him for a second, and then scrambled to be released again.

“We have presents too!” She went over to Libero, and rummaged through the bag.

“These are from me, they come with a poem! You have to read it, I wrote the letters myself! You too, Ermal, this one is yours!”

Ermal took it, and looked at Fabrizio for guidance. He just nodded at him, a sign to go on, and Ermal opened the little note and had to swallow away the lump in his throat before he could read. It was a short, sweet little rhyme, as cliché as they came, but still the best present Ermal had ever received. And it didn’t stop there, after Libero got out the presents he had helped with for Fabrizio, there were more for him, and here he recognized Fabrizio’s influence. Finally, there were two self-made presents from Libero. The bag was empty, and he settled next to Anita between them, leaning against Ermal.

“We made those at school. My teacher told me I could never finish both in time, but I did! I had to, because I needed two, one for both of you!”

“It’s beautiful,” Ermal whispered, looking at the painted, wooden picture frame he held in his hand, a picture of him and Libero inside, a sight that left him furiously trying to blink away his tears.

Before he had quite succeeded at that, Libero looked up at him with something else on his mind.

“Ermal? We had a question, too. We can’t call you papa, because that would be confusing, but what can we call you?”

Ermal looked at him, he had heard the question, but he couldn’t quite comprehend it, let alone formulate an answer. Those tears were really close now, and blinking would now only let them fall, so he tried not to.

“If – if that’s okay, we don’t _have_ to,” Libero added, a bit insecure now, when Ermal stayed silent.

Luckily, Fabrizio was there to help, better able to fill in this silence, drawing the correct conclusions. He put a hand on Ermal’s shoulder, showing him that he was there, that he wasn’t alone.

“What about the Albanian word? Wouldn’t that work? Ermal, would that be okay?” he suggested gently.

At that, Ermal managed to nod, a shaky smile lighting up his face, though the sparkle in his eyes was still mostly tears threatening to fall.

“Yes!” Anita said, delighted now, “What is the Albanian word, Ermal?”

It took a few tries and a lot of swallowing before Ermal managed to answer, his voice not as steady as he would have liked.

“It’s _babë_ ,” he answered finally, and then listened to Libero and Anita trying out that foreign word.

 

He was sitting on the sand, staring at the faint horizon and lost in those thoughts. The cold rain on his face had been joined by some hot tears as well, but Ermal let them be.

Of all the things he had never expected to have, it was these children, calling him _babë_. That was a word that he had long ago stopped expecting to ever apply to him, and yet, here he was.

Suddenly, he was roused from these thoughts, as someone sat down beside him. Ermal looked up, and found Fabrizio next to him, also wrapped up in a poncho against the rain.

“I thought I could find you here,” Fabrizio said, smiling.

Ermal looked at him, he had never expected to see him here, next to him in the rain, he was well aware that Fabrizio didn’t like being out in weather like this.

“I missed you,” Fabrizio said, as if he could read Ermal’s thoughts.

Ermal smiled, not trusting his voice quite yet, and leaned his head over to rest it on Fabrizio’s shoulder.

“What were you thinking about?” Fabrizio asked him, somehow noticing his mood.

Ermal turned his head a little, to hide his face in Fabrizio’s neck, before he whispered, “Father’s Day.”

Fabrizio took his hand in both of his, enveloping it in warmth as his were not yet chilled by the rain.

“Did you know Giada called me, to tell me that you were not expecting anything? That you tried to find out what to organise for me with the children, but didn’t think of yourself whatsoever?”

“She did?” Ermal asked, surprised, but then continued, “Of course I didn’t expect anything, I’m not a father.”

It didn’t take long for Fabrizio’s answer to come.

“But you are. In all the ways that matter, you are one, you know that, Ermal, of all people, you know that.”

Ermal’s tears were back then, trying to hide them between the raindrops, but failing, because Fabrizio just knew him too well. He felt his arms wrap around him, softly rocking them back and forth.

Fabrizio continued, trying to change the mood a little, to make it just a bit lighter.

“And it was fun, keeping everything a secret from you. Giada helped Anita with her second card, and Libero really worked so hard in school to finish both our presents. And then it was just up to me to turn off your stupid alarm clock, luckily Libero told me what you were planning, and I could manage.”

“I _knew_ I had set it!” Ermal exclaimed, a smile now starting on his face.

“Of course you did, you tell me time and time again that _you_ never forget, that _you_ are never late!”

“Well, it’s true!” Ermal defended himself, but then continued on a more serious note, “Thank you, Bizio, for everything.”

Fabrizio just nodded, and smiled, and they sat there in the rain, staring at the waves crashing onto the sand that was already wet from the rain falling down.

After a while, Fabrizio pushed himself up, dragging Ermal up with him.

“Come on, there are more comfortable places to be than a wet, windy beach. If we go by the campsite store, we can get some extra milk. I can make hot chocolate and we can cuddle in our sleeping bags until Libero and Anita come back. How does that sound?”

Ermal grabbed his hand as they made their way across the sand.

“Perfect.”

 

**Fabrizio**

Ermal knew he didn’t have to wait until Fabrizio had left the house before going to the studio. He was allowed in there, he was welcome there, of course he was, Fabrizio had told him that multiple times.

And it wasn’t that Ermal didn’t want to, at times his fingers itched to go back and play that piano. It was just that when Fabrizio was around there were so many other ways to spend the time, to spend the time together.

Now though, he was alone. Giada had picked up Libero and Anita some time before, and Fabrizio was still away at work. Ermal planned to cook them dinner, just the two of them. It would be a nice, relaxed night together. He had some time to kill before that, though, so here he found himself sitting at the piano.

The moment right before he pressed that first key was a heavy one, but as the sound resonated through the room, it just felt good. Ermal was suddenly reminded of what Fabrizio had told him that first time he had played the piano again.  _It's not too late to start again_. And wasn't that true?

Ermal smiled as his fingers slid over the keys, playing without him consciously deciding to that same melody that had come to him before, that original melody, that melody that was all his own.

He played it a few times, getting lost in the feelings of strength and protection that it called up in him. He would have been fine to stay like that, he would have been content, but suddenly something changed.

He had an unexpected urge to do more than just play the piano _,_ and his mind settled on those words Fabrizio had told him, and they fit these feelings he had, they fit this melody. 

He started humming at first, but still he needed to do  _more_. He hesitated for a moment, but then realized he had nothing to lose. Ermal played the melody again, softly singing those words swirling through his head. This felt good. Yes, new, unexpected, different, it was all those things, but it felt good.

And he didn't want to lose this. Repeating the words in his mind, he looked around for some paper and a pen. Luckily, they weren't hard to find, being in the studio as he was. This place was prepared for sudden bursts of inspiration.

Ermal scribbled down the lines and then stared at the paper. That was just two lines, and he wondered if there was more where that came from. He dove back in the melody, in those feelings, those memories, all the things he had told Fabrizio about, right here in this room, weeks and weeks ago. But now there wasn't that desperation, there was something else, there was hope.

Those feelings and memories turned into more strings of words, turned into lyrics, proper lyrics. Not only Fabrizio’s words found a place with the melody, so did his mother’s, those words that she’d spoken so long ago, but that had never left him, and he was sure that never would.

He continued like that, playing, singing, scribbling down the words, scratching them out and writing new ones. Finally, he realized he was done. His mind was empty now, he had said all he wanted to, all he needed to. He played the whole thing again, from begin to end, happy with what he had created.

Then it hit him. He had written a song, an actual song! In wonder, Ermal stared at the paper around him, at the piano. A smile grew on his lips, a proud smile. He had actually done this, by himself, letting the music and the words flow out of his hands, his mind, his mouth. And it felt good.

The silence was finally broken by the door softly clicking open, and Fabrizio’s head appeared around it.

“How are you, Ermal? I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Fabrizio! Are you home already?” Ermal asked in slight confusion, but added after a glance at the clock, “Oh no, I completely forgot the time! I wanted to cook for you, I am so sorry!”

Fabrizio just smiled at him.

“I ordered something for us, it’s okay, you were busy.”

He moved over to Ermal, standing behind him and started softly massaging his shoulders. Ermal leaned back into the touch and turned his head slightly to look at Fabrizio.

“I wrote a song, Bizio,” he whispered, as he couldn’t really believe it yet. It was one thing to conclude it, to think it, but another thing to say it out loud to someone else.

Fabrizio looked back at him, and the expression on his face could only be described as pride. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Ermal’s cheek.

Ermal waited for the obvious next question, but it didn’t come. And on second thoughts, that maybe shouldn’t have surprised him. Fabrizio had always been good at giving him space when he needed it, even when maybe he didn’t know it himself.

But it wasn’t like that now, Ermal wanted to share this, with Fabrizio if with anyone, of course with Fabrizio, after the part he had played in getting him here.

“Do you want to hear it?” he offered softly, a bit shyly, but he needn’t be, because Fabrizio immediately nodded. He sat down on the edge of the stool next to Ermal.

Ermal took a deep breath and then started to play his song. He didn’t pay any attention to Fabrizio or his reaction. Again, he was fully captivated by the music, and he didn’t even have to look at his scribbled lyrics to get them right. They just flowed out of him, like it was meant to be, and it didn’t matter that he had an audience now.

He finished, letting the last notes fade out, and after a moment, Fabrizio leaned against him, wrapping his arms around him.

“That was beautiful, Ermal. I told you before that I love your voice, but that song… It is amazing.”

Ermal looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw what he suspected, but what Fabrizio tried so hard to hide in his voice. A tear just ran down his cheek, and Ermal took a hand off of the piano to wipe it away.

“I’m so, so proud of you,” Fabrizio told him, before burying his face in Ermal’s neck – his curls must surely tickle, but Fabrizio didn’t seem to care about that – hugging him again.

Finally, Fabrizio let him go, more composed now. They looked at each other for a bit, and Ermal got the idea that Fabrizio had some words on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say them. Instead, after a while, he vaguely shook his head.

“Shall we go eat?” he asked.

Ermal nodded, stretching as he got up. He had missed time going by, but his joints certainly hadn’t, and he felt a bit stiff. He followed Fabrizio to the kitchen, taking a plate of the delivered food. They ate it siting on the couch, not bothering with setting the table tonight.

When they had both finished, Fabrizio took the empty plates and put them on the coffee table. Then he made himself comfortable on the couch and pulled Ermal against him, who didn’t need a whole lot of convincing to comply. He loved these soft, sweet moments with just the two of them, moments that might become something more and lead somewhere else, or moments that stayed just like this, cozy and comfortable.

Tonight it seemed it was going to be the second option, as Fabrizio ran his fingers through Ermal’s curls, seemingly lost in thought. Ermal let him be, finding his own thoughts to occupy him as he relaxed under Fabrizio’s touch.

Finally, Fabrizio’s hand stilled, and Ermal wondered if he had fallen asleep. It wouldn’t be the first time. But no, a soft “Ermal?” sounded through the room, and Ermal hummed in acknowledgement.

“I’m glad you tried music again,” Fabrizio told him, somehow saying so much more than just that simple sentence. Ermal turned his head so he could look at him, and Fabrizio’s hand moved with it, going back to its soothing rhythm from before.

“I’m also glad I picked it up again,” Ermal answered, “That was because of you, by the way, you and your _it’s not too late to start again_.” It was important that Fabrizio knew that, and Ermal wasn’t sure if he had noticed that when he played him the song.

“Well, it’s not. It’s never too late. If you want to, you can still try to make it in music, those old dreams can still become reality. I’m sure you’d do amazing, if this first song is any indication of what you’re capable of.”

Fabrizio’s voice was soft, but steady, and Ermal could hear that he meant it, but still he scoffed.

“Don’t be silly,” he said, though with no harshness behind his words.

“I’m not,” came Fabrizio’s answer, still so steady, and he was still running his fingers through Ermal’s hair in a way that made him want to melt. The answer didn’t convince him, though.

“Bizio, come on, I’m just a mailman, of course I can’t _make it_ in music. It’s too late.”

Fabrizio’s reply now came with a soft smile that sounded through in his voice.

“It’s not too late to start again.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really, I am serious. Making music, Ermal, would you like that? Don’t think about all the things that might go wrong, just imagine for a second if it would all work out – would you like that?”

Despite himself, Ermal did, imagine that.

He imagined the songs he could write, playing the piano, who knew, learning other instruments, he’d always been intrigued by the guitar, and the way Fabrizio played that… He imagined the concerts he could play, the people there for him, watching him, listening, singing his lyrics, even. He imagined the messages he could send, the people he could reach, the _good_ he could do.

It was with sparkling eyes that he looked at Fabrizio again, nodding wordlessly as an answer to that question.

Yes, he would like that.

And at that moment he realized something else too. Why not try? If it didn’t work out, it was okay and he had given his best. He could try, and he knew that no matter what would happen, he would have one of his biggest fans always on his side. Today had showed him that he _could_ do this, that music was still inside of him, waiting to come out, no matter how he had repressed it all these years. He could work with that, and he could _try_.

It was not too late to start again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was it!  
> The whole story!  
> Yes, there is one more chapter left, but that will just be flashbacks, so nothing new there.  
> I hope you liked these two last little scenes (ok, not so very little) and I'd love it if you tell me your thoughts in a comment!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue 2A.  
> Part one of the second epilogue, told from Fabrizio's pov :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes to you because Ceci asked for it. Thanks :) I had a lot of fun writing it, though it's taking a bit longer than planned, and it also IS a bit longer than planned (yeah, I updated the chapter count. Again.) Basically I'm just rewriting the story from Fabri's pov. I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts in a comment!

He felt Ermal's heartbeat beneath his hand, slow and steady. Ermal’s warmth spread to Fabrizio, somehow a comforting presence and it tried to pull him down into sleep too, but his thoughts wouldn't let him yet. 

He had unanswered questions still, but they were questions that did not matter right now. Like he had told Ermal, they could wait, but that didn't mean they had left his mind completely. Still, he had certainties too. He let those words play through his mind again, the ones Ermal wanted to call him, the ones he didn’t understand at all, but where Ermal’s voice carried the meaning anyway, and the words he did know, the ones that made his breath hitch, because was this really happening?

He had dreamt of this – or no, he hadn’t dared to dream of so much, he had tried to guard himself, his heart. When he thought of Ermal and any possibilities, he had told himself to keep it vague, to keep it contained, and this was so much more, all at once.

 _Caro, tesoro, amore mio_.

The words echoed through his mind again, and he pulled Ermal just a little closer. He had this now, he would keep this now, and together they would go back to Rome, and intertwine their lives. Fabrizio smiled, as he imagined the possibilities, him and Ermal, the concrete implications of what had happened between them this night. For such a long time he had believed all this an impossibility, for one reason or another… And yet, here he was, here _they_ were. On the same page, on the page he had hoped for, for so long now. 

He remembered their first meeting. He remembered how the doorbell had rung when he hadn't expected it at all. In fact, he had just barely made it out of bed, on his way to the shower, but hastily shrugging on his shirt again as he made his way down the stairs, trying not to trip over his feet or the piles of letters at the bottom. 

Then, opening the door, he had found a mailman there, with one of those headache inducing uniforms. Though, Fabrizio had to be honest, his attention wasn't so much captured by the loud colours as by the man's curls. They framed his face so nicely.

Fabrizio tried to blame his sleepiness for how he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the conversation, and for how he fumbled with his keys, but he knew he was just lying to himself. This man was distracting him even just one minute into seeing him.

And to be fair, it was rather hard to deal with unexpected events like full mailboxes and streams of envelopes pouring down to your feet. How was one supposed to react to that, even in the best of circumstances?

He didn’t know, but apparently the mailman did, taking charge of the situation until Fabrizio had composed himself enough to have some sort of normal conversation, until he had done his job and delivered all letters, and could leave. He could leave, and Fabrizio could lean against the closed door to figure out what had just happened, and why exactly it felt like his world had shifted a bit.

He knew the reasons, after thinking on it for a while. Besides the obvious, even with that uniform, that man was beautiful, and there was an important second reason.

He had not seemed to recognize him.

That in itself was a breath of fresh air, and the following meetings Fabrizio had with him only seemed to confirm it. The focus on his last name, his real last name, not his stage name. The way how his first name did not ring any bells either. How they’d talked about themselves, about music, even, and there was nothing that suggested even for a second that this man – Ermal – knew who he was. And yet, somehow they clicked. Fabrizio enjoyed that short time he spent with him, just sitting, talking, drinking a beer.

Of course, Ermal was curious about the letters, but he didn’t press the point too much, and it was only Fabrizio’s own fault that he had to cut short that talk by bringing up his work. That would lead to questions he didn’t want to answer, so better end it there. They would see each other again, and soon, of course they would. There was no hurry. He had time to figure out if there was a chance they might become friends, more than friends, maybe?

That’s what he thought, at least, until Anita had asked her questions. The first one was still answered negatively, Ermal didn’t know what people wrote to him, why would he, if he didn’t know about Fabrizio’s job? But the answer to the second one let all of Fabrizio’s careful hopes collapse.

Ermal did know who he was. Ermal liked his music. In that moment, Fabrizio didn’t want to deal with this, another fan, a thousand questions on his mind, no doubt, and who surely only wanted answers, in one way or another.

So he went inside, and tried to avoid Ermal just a little in the days that followed. It was a childish reaction, he knew that, but he needed some time, some space, to deal with that inexplicable feeling of disappointment in his chest. He was annoyed both with Ermal for not being like he had expected, hoped, imagined, and with himself, for having those expectations, hopes and imaginations in the first place. Shouldn’t he know better than that?

And it might have ended there, it might have been fine, he might have pulled himself together, apologized to Ermal the next time he saw him, and moved on from there, with adjusted expectations. He might have, if not for how fate played him and put that next meeting on the absolute worst day in a long time, and that was saying something.

It was no longer just a case of the album leaking, that was unfortunate but could be handled in one way or another. It was no longer that combined with some vague plagiarism accusations that could be talked about. No, now the plagiarism accusations were no longer very vague and had entered mainstream media with a sting, and the implications were becoming clear.

Long meetings with his management, cancelations for interviews and performances left and right, shops returning the copies of his album, talk about a court case, gossip magazines turning on everything he did, trying to find even more dirty laundry, then the more respectable magazines following their lead… Everything was falling apart, and now here was that mailman again, who might as well be carrying more of those _awful_ letters that Fabrizio just didn’t want to deal with right now.

Objectively, Fabrizio knew how that must have looked to Ermal, he could understand that it would feel personal – it wasn’t, not really, or not at all, if he was honest. He liked Ermal, in so far as he knew him. Though that was just it, he didn’t really know him at all. And right now, it was just something he couldn’t deal with. Not when people who he thought were his friends turned out to be selling their stories to those rubbish journalists, not when his management had received calls of people pretending to be supportive but who were just after details…

What was to say Ermal wasn’t one of those people? Looking for details of his story, of other ways to make him look bad, put him down, destroy everything he had worked so hard for?

As time passed by, and Ermal still tried so hard, greeting him, talking to him like he would to any other person he happened to encounter on his round. Fabrizio knew he should fix this, should apologize, but the longer this went on, the easier it was to continue like he had, ignoring Ermal, letting those tentative conversations die a premature death. It would be so hard to change now, there was so much to explain, and he didn’t know where to begin, he didn’t have any explanations.

He had a perfect chance to do it, though, to apologize, and Fabrizio knew it.

Today, Ermal had been there again, offering his help, suggesting he could look after the children. Of course, Fabrizio hadn’t wanted to accept, hadn’t done so very gracefully either, but in his defense, his mind was still occupied by the phone call he’d just had. Still, Ermal had made the offer knowing what he was getting into, he had overheard that phone call, and by now he was perfectly acquainted with Fabrizio’s mood.

And then, two hours later, on his drive back home, Fabrizio had realized that this was the moment he should grab to talk to Ermal, to apologize to him. That was the least he deserved, and so much more. And he wanted to, he had the beginnings of a speech planned, he intended to invite Ermal to stay, offer him a drink, and then explain.

He had come home, taking a short time to observe Ermal and Anita, playing with the Lego he had asked his daughter to clear away three times now. The scene even managed to make him almost smile, quite a feat after that meeting he’d had. But then Ermal noticed him, and Fabrizio was ready to launch into his plan, but he wasn’t quick enough. Ermal slipped passed him, mumbling both a hello and a goodbye in the same breath, and disappeared.

Fabrizio watched him go, stunned, until Anita grabbed his attention, glad he was back, hugging him, and then telling about her afternoon. It seemed Ermal had made an impression on the girl, and somehow it added to Fabrizio’s slowly growing feeling of guilt that he wasn’t treating Ermal quite right.

That feeling only grew at the next interaction he had with him. It was that afternoon where Libero and Anita were nowhere to be found. Not in the house, not in the garden, not in the street. Fabrizio looked for them, panic slowly wrapping its icy fingers around his heart. When he finally found them, relief was settling in his chest instead, now battling with the anger rising up, fed only by the fear of before. It took him a minute to notice Ermal was also present, and that connection was only made through the letters all around his children.

Those letters, that he had tried to protect them from, but failed, and this called for a talk with Ermal. Not quite the talk he had planned, but an important one nonetheless. And here too, Ermal took him by surprise – he spoke first, and Fabrizio had not expected the apology that came out of his mouth – what had Ermal to apologize for? – followed by Ermal defending the children’s actions.

Again, Fabrizio was confused by this man. How was he still this nice, this helpful, even after how Fabrizio treated him? Because Ermal still wasn’t thinking of himself, wasn’t rightfully upset about how he was treated, but thought of the children first, and then of Fabrizio, asking if he could _help_ with anything. Offering help, again, even now… Fabrizio was well aware he didn’t deserve it. He also knew this was another chance of setting things right, but once more, Ermal left before he could quite start that task.

Then, of course, there was that other attempt Libero and Anita had at cheering him up, that much more successful attempt. It wasn’t a big leap to figure out who had helped them with that, not with the unfamiliar handwriting, the magical stamps, and the increased number of times both children mentioned the mailman.

And it didn’t stop there, this mailman conjured up some more letters that were so very welcome. Fabrizio couldn’t believe it, Ermal had talked to friends of his and they’d written Fabrizio those kind, supportive letters that came at exactly the right time, right before that awful court case, the moment everything would be decided…

After he’d gotten the good news, when he could finally put this whole mess behind him, and focus on his next steps, Fabrizio knew that he _had_ to talk to Ermal. He _had_ to apologize. His behaviour had been inexcusable, and right now there was nothing stopping him from trying to fix it.

Nothing – except one thing. Ermal seemed to have suddenly disappeared from the face of the Earth. Fabrizio knew there was probably a perfectly rational explanation for this, but sometimes late at night, when he was more asleep than awake, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Ermal had just been there to help him through these dark moments – some sort of guardian angel. And now that the worst was over, maybe Ermal had left too?

But no, of course not. Though Fabrizio wasn’t quite sure who was more relieved that Ermal was back, him or Anita. And in what a way he was back, not spotted on the street, not a cold greeting over the garden fence, no, Ermal was right here in his house, standing in his living room. Maybe Fabrizio could have been a little nicer in asking why Ermal was there, but this sudden appearance didn’t do anything to make him seem any less supernatural.

His stammering explanation of why he was in Fabrizio’s house managed that though, and Fabrizio felt himself soften, and also knew that here was another chance to apologize, finally he should, he would – except Ermal took him by surprise again.

“I know you don’t like me, but I could have _helped_ ,” he had said, whispered.

That threw Fabrizio off again, because wasn’t that exactly what Ermal had been doing all this time? Helping him? Even when it didn’t seem to be welcomed, he kept offering, despite everything. And wait, he thought Fabrizio didn’t like him? Fabrizio could see how he had come to that conclusion, the guilt weighing him down even more suddenly, but he knew that this was the moment to start that apology, try to form some sort of explanation, impossible as it was.

And he did start that, and he even managed to finish it, though he didn’t quite know how. And he did apologize. He could only hope it was clear to Ermal that he meant it, that he was sincere in his intentions. That was all he hoped for, that his apology would be accepted, that they could start with some sort of clean slate, because Fabrizio would give a lot to go back to those first few meetings, when he hadn’t ruined it all yet.

Again, the surprises didn’t stop. Because Ermal didn’t just accept his apology, no, he did so much more than that. He offered friendship. Fabrizio hardly could believe it, if there was ever someone not deserving of this man’s friendship, it was him. But if it was offered, how could he say no?

It was only when Ermal asked about how he felt during everything, that it hit Fabrizio how he had missed this, a talk where he didn’t have to pretend it would all be fine, that he had everything under control. Only then he realized that all this time he had been walking on eggshells, trying to figure out who he could trust, trying not to worry the people closest to him… Who was left to tell the truth to?

Now here was Ermal though, listening to him, asking him how he had been, and genuinely interested in the answers. Here was Ermal, worried about being the person delivering the hate mail he’d been getting, even though it was in no way his fault. Here was Ermal, who almost didn’t want to accept his thanks for those letters he had his friends write… Here was a new friend, and Fabrizio was glad about that.

Here was a new friend, and yet, that little part of him, that had first focused on those curls and that sweet smile, now was back, whispering in the back of his mind, focusing on how Ermal seemed rather a bit flustered by those letters, or more by the content of them. It pointed out how Ermal started to blush a little as he stammered his question on what this Mr Borsato had written exactly, and on the quickly disguised relief when Fabrizio said he hadn’t said anything else. It made one wonder, what there could have been said… What could make a grown man blush like that?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue 2B, Fabri's pov continued.

At least Fabrizio finally had some way of doing something for Ermal, instead of the other way around. Of course he would offer the spare bedroom to a friend for a few nights, and yes, okay, maybe he was curious how it would be, spending more time with Ermal than just a few minutes here and there.

Fabrizio had tried to put that blush out of his mind, and he had tried not to dwell on that voice in the back of his head, but it was getting more difficult to ignore it as it had steadily grown louder over the weeks that passed. Now, with Ermal at his dinner table and here to stay for two more days, it was getting really hard to ignore.

It only continued like that later in the evening, and that voice was fuelled by every answered smile from Ermal, by every look at him that Fabrizio managed to intercept, and not in the least how Ermal acted with the Libero and Anita, who included Ermal in this family movie night, who didn’t question his presence at all. For a second, Fabrizio wondered about that, but then he realized that the weeks and weeks he had spent glaring at Ermal and ignoring him, the children had actually talked to him, gotten to know him. They knew him better than he did.

That was clear too, when he had put both Libero and Anita to bed, and rejoined Ermal on the couch in front of the television. The mood had changed, it was heavier now, and Fabrizio tried to fill the silence with simple questions to get to know Ermal better, but it wasn’t easy, and the conversation only flowed haltingly. It wouldn’t have been a problem, except that in each silence, that voice in his head got bolder and started suggesting increasingly stupid things.

Finally, Fabrizio couldn’t take it anymore, he needed a break from this and a moment alone to figure out what he was going to do. He needed to make a decision, if only to silence that voice… So he got up, with the excuse of checking on Libero and Anita, and did that, quickly, all was fine, and then sank down on the edge of his bed.

As it was, he had two options. He could let things be as they were, or he could take a chance and see how Ermal would react to something else, something hinting at more… He could try, at least, couldn’t he? _Yes, yes!_ the voice in his head only replied to that, and in a split second, Fabrizio made his decision.

He quickly changed into some more comfortable clothes, just to give an explanation to how long he’d been away, and then went downstairs again. For a minute he watched Ermal, who hadn’t noticed Fabrizio was back yet, and who, when he did, seemed to freeze for a second, letting his eyes linger on Fabrizio just a tad too long. The voice in Fabrizio’s mind now was only a silent smile.

If anything, that reaction had given him a little bit more confidence that this might work out. So he sat back down on the couch, just a bit closer to Ermal than was strictly necessary. He focused on the TV again, or at least, pretended to, because he was paying more attention to Ermal than to the flickering images on the screen. As the news moved to sports summaries, Ermal slowly seemed to relax a bit more. They had a proper conversation going now, talking about different football teams and players, like they were old friends.

After another one of Ermal’s soft smiles that he actually liked a lot, Fabrizio decided it was time to make his move. He shifted a bit, just a little more towards Ermal, and let his arm run over the back of the couch, ready to slide it over Ermal’s shoulder –

He never got that far. Because Ermal moved out of his way, twisting around, and then he started babbling about this friend he had, this _best_ friend he had, and went on and on about how he once had locked himself out. At first, Fabrizio could only stare, uncomprehending where all this came from, until it finally clicked.

This was Ermal telling him his attentions weren’t welcome. This was Ermal telling him he was in a relationship. This was Ermal telling him he was taken.

Right. He could take a hint.

And it was fine, he knew it was a chance he was taking.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, just a little, or maybe just a little more than he would like to admit.

Still, there was no reason to take it out on Ermal, it was not his fault, not really. Nevertheless, right now Fabrizio would rather be alone, so he said his good nights, hoping Ermal wouldn’t take it the wrong way to be left to his own devices for the rest of the evening.

He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling for a while, trying to come to terms with this. At least he had tried, and now he just had to deal with that ball of disappointment in his chest. “Just”, as if it was an easy thing to do. But he had to, Ermal was staying, at least these few days, and Fabrizio hoped he would also be around after that, just occasionally. As a friend.

He could do that, being friends. He didn’t _need_ more, though it would have been so nice – No. He wasn’t going to go there. It wasn’t going to happen, Ermal was in a relationship, no doubt in a happy relationship, and that fact could make Fabrizio glad too. Eventually.

It took some time, but then he fell asleep, only to be rudely awoken what felt like minutes later by his alarm. He pressed snooze once, but then knew he had to get up, had to get breakfast ready, get the children to school. He didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity. He didn’t have a _reason_ to wallow in self-pity. Not really. So Ermal turned him down? It wasn’t the end of the world, and he could deal with this.

Fabrizio had pulled himself together, and was now having breakfast with Libero and Anita, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He had a last second to brace himself, before the door of the kitchen opened, and Ermal entered. It took a deep breath, but then Fabrizio managed a friendly good morning, and a smile. See, he could do this. It would be fine.

And it was all fine, the day passed, busy as it was, until the afternoon. When things stopped being totally fine. Because it was time for Libero and Anita to be picked up by Giada, and now Fabrizio found he wasn’t the only one with a rather strong attachment to Ermal. Anita had realized she’d had to leave her favourite mailman behind for the weekend, and she wasn’t happy about it.

In the middle of that all, Giada arrived, of course she had, she’d always had impeccable timing like that. Fabrizio could only ask Ermal to open the door, a request that seemed totally natural until he realized that Ermal and Giada hadn’t actually met before. This would give him some questions to answer later, no doubt, and he had no idea how to get himself out of that conversation.

For now, though, he should calm down Anita, and she led him to the perfect person to do just that. Ermal. He’d re-entered the room, and without saying anything, Fabrizio put Anita in Ermal’s arms, then carefully avoiding meeting Giada’s eyes. He also didn’t really want to look at Ermal with Anita in his arms, so he focused on Libero, ruffling his hair and pulling him in close.

Suddenly though, his attention was pulled back to Ermal and Anita.

“Like a sleepover?” he heard her say in that special tone of voice she had discovered, and yes, with those big eyes on Ermal.

“Yes, like a sleepover,” Ermal echoed, and who could blame him? No one could resist Anita when she was like this and she knew it. The panicked look that Ermal threw Fabrizio told him that he wasn’t quite sure what was happening.

Fabrizio just stared back, while Anita excitedly asked if she really could, her tears now drying quickly. Luckily, there was still Giada, taking charge now, sending the children upstairs, so they could talk. Immediately, Ermal started to apologize, and Fabrizio wondered what for, and also Ermal’s surprise at his agreement was unexpected. Why wouldn’t he agree? He’d seen Ermal with the children. He’d heard the neighbours mention how kind Ermal always was. He couldn’t think of a single reason why he wouldn’t let Anita stay with Ermal.

That evening, Fabrizio was seeing friends, but he couldn’t quite get out of his mind that maybe it was a bit rude to leave Ermal on his own. So he went home earlier than he otherwise would have done, wondering what Ermal was occupying himself with. He said he liked to read, maybe he was reading?

But no, he wasn’t. Fabrizio entered the house, but didn’t see Ermal in the living room or the kitchen, though he did find an opened bottle of wine. Suddenly, he realized that the sound of a piano was resonating through the house. That probably answered the question where Ermal was, though Fabrizio had no idea he played the piano – and this well too!

He made his way to the studio, taking just a moment to stand in the doorway and watch Ermal play. He did so full of emotion, clearly completely taken up by the music. But Fabrizio couldn’t just stand here and stare, he should let Ermal know he was here.

And he did. But his kindly meant comment fell flat against what he noticed when Ermal turned to face him. He was clearly startled by Fabrizio’s sudden appearance, but what was more, he was _crying_.

Fabrizio tried to get a reaction from him, but there was nothing. Maybe Ermal needed another moment on his own? Clearly his thoughts had been somewhere else entirely. Fabrizio went to fetch him some water, and as he stared at the glass filling with water, his thoughts ran wild trying to find an explanation, anything at all.

If he was honest, seeing Ermal like this scared him. Because what was going on? What had happened? What was wrong? It was so obvious something was _wrong_. Fabrizio sighed once more, and then went back to the studio, hoping he could be of some help, but also wondering how on earth he was going to help with this, when it seemed so big.

And it was big, Fabrizio found out, when he sat there and listened to what Ermal was telling him, and listened to the sounds the piano made under his hands. He could never have imagined that this was hiding in Ermal’s past, but he knew that Ermal was so much stronger than he had even thought.

Finally, Ermal turned to him with a soft smile on his lips, though there were some tears still on his cheeks. Fabrizio ached to wipe them away, but he knew he shouldn’t go there. Besides, it was clear Ermal felt better now, some colour returning to his face. They shared a hug, a hug with which Fabrizio tried to tell Ermal all the things he couldn’t say out loud right now, and after a last lingering touch to his shoulder left him in the studio.

The sounds of the piano continued, just as skilful as before, but with a lighter tone now. Fabrizio leaned against the wall for a second, listening, trying to gather his thoughts. His heart hurt for the little boy that had given up music, when it clearly meant so much to him. But he also knew that he had found it again, and like he had told Ermal, it was never too late.

It took some time for him to fall asleep that night, his mind returning to that scene in the studio. For a brief moment he wondered if he had done alright, acted like he should, but then he shook those thoughts from his mind. Yes, he had. He had done his best to comfort Ermal while giving him his space, and it had worked, and now he could just be humbled by the _trust_ that Ermal showed to have for him.

Still, it had been an intense weekend, feelings of all sorts coursing through his body in the shortest amount of time, and Fabrizio would lie if he said he wasn’t at least a little relieved that Ermal would be returning home. He needed some time so put everything that had happened in its place.

But he couldn’t forget Ermal for too long, not with Anita asking every night when she would have her sleepover, and Fabrizio had to breach that subject with Ermal sooner rather than later. And when he did, again Ermal’s hesitance surprised him – it wasn’t hesitance of having Anita visit, but rather doubt whether Fabrizio would agree to that at all. And after last weekend, Fabrizio could pinpoint a little better where Ermal was coming from, and tried to dispel his friend’s worries.

It seemed to work, and to Anita’s delight the day of the sleepover rolled around quickly. Fabrizio took her to Ermal’s place, staying for dinner. He saw the drawing on the wall, the stuffed animals on the bed, all the preparations Ermal had made to make Anita feel at home, and his heart softened a little more – as if it wasn’t already so weak when it came to Ermal.

He left Anita, trusting her to Ermal’s care completely, but still wondering how his little girl would fare, a whole night on her own in a strange home. He kept his phone close to him all night, but a phone call never came, and Fabrizio knew everything was alright. Anita was growing up, and he should get used to letting her go a little bit more as time passed. He was glad for that, but that didn’t make it easier.

He got Ermal’s hurried text the next day, apologizing he was late, reassuring he and Anita were on their way now, and Fabrizio only smiled at the words. When the doorbell rang, he opened up and quickly let Ermal and Anita in, taking them to the living room where he had some drinks waiting for them.

He could only smile at the two, listening to Anita’s chattering about hedgehogs and pancakes and fairy tales, and when she ran off it took him a minute to gather his thoughts enough to have a proper conversation with Ermal. Ermal left soon, but not before sending a bright smile over his shoulder back to Fabrizio who was still standing in the doorway. And Fabrizio knew it was raining, and overcast, but with that smile it felt a little bit as if the sun was shining nonetheless.

The week that followed passed swiftly, he was busy at work, and didn’t have a lot of time to linger on thoughts of Ermal, though he was reminded of him when taking Anita back to bed for the third time that evening. She just couldn’t sleep, and kept wandering back to the living room to tell him that. He had tried everything, from lullabies and bed time stories to just talking to her until she fell asleep. Except she didn’t fall asleep.

In their talking, Anita did mention that Ermal had sung her a lullaby at the sleepover, and she “loved it so much, and Ermal was so nice, wasn’t he, papa?”

Fabrizio tried not to get lost in thoughts of Ermal, but focused on the problem at hand. Anita needed to sleep. There was something he could try, though it was a strange thing to ask, but he had to try…

So he called Ermal, who surprisingly enough agreed to sing that lullaby over the phone, and then he told Anita. He tucked her in under her blankets, gave her hopefully the last goodnight kiss of the day, and then turned to the phone again to ask Ermal to start.

And then he forgot everything. He just held the phone and listened to Ermal’s voice, singing unfamiliar words, sounding like an angel. No wonder Anita had liked this song, who wouldn’t absolutely love this?

It took a minute for him to realize that Ermal had fallen silent, now only his breathing sounding through the phone, and that Anita had miraculously fallen asleep. He got up, and softly closed the door behind him before he put the phone back to his ear, exhaling and then telling Ermal exactly what was on his mind. There was a silence in which Fabrizio realized what he was doing, what he wanted to do, and what he should not do. So he wished Ermal a good night, and hung up, and then stared at the phone, wondering how he was supposed to keep a check on his heart when Ermal was like _this_.

He found a good way to keep a check on his heart though, a few weeks later, when – eventually – Ermal asked him to come to Marco’s birthday (Marco, his friend, his _best_ friend, Fabrizio knew it well) and play a few songs. Because Marco would love it. And so would Ermal.

Fabrizio said yes. He tried to tell himself it was because he was doing a friend a favour, something he would do for any of his friends. Of course it wasn’t because Ermal would love it too (would maybe love him too), of course it wasn’t because he wanted to torture himself a little and see how happy Ermal was with Marco and remind himself why he should forget about those things for himself, of course it wasn’t for any of those reasons, how would anyone even think that?

And that left him sitting on Ermal’s couch with his guitar on his lap, while Ermal paced the room nervously. As the time of Marco’s arrival approached, Fabrizio asked himself once more why he had agreed to this. He didn’t even want to have to witness Ermal being all happy with Marco. But he shouldn’t think of that right now, he had in fact agreed, he had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. And he had to reassure Ermal that all would be well, because he looked ready to combust from nerves.

Finally, Marco arrived, and as he came in, Fabrizio started playing his favourite song. He focused on his guitar, not sure if he could keep singing if he looked up and saw Ermal and Marco, together. After a while, though, he was pretty sure his mind was making up worse things, so he risked a glance up. And yes, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Marco was sitting on a chair, watching him, intently listening, mouthing the words, Fabrizio noticed, and he couldn’t help but flash him a quick smile that surprised even himself a little. Then his eyes moved on to Ermal, who was leaning against the wall in the back of the room, his gaze fixed on Marco, a gentle smile on his face that made Fabrizio’s heart hurt just a little. If only that could be directed at him.

He focused on his guitar again, what else could he do? After a few more songs, it was time for him to go, and he had to admit he was a little relieved about that. At least now he knew that Ermal was happy with Marco, it was clear from the look on his face, and it was okay, Fabrizio told himself, Marco seemed a kind person. He could be happy for Ermal, and he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd be so happy if you left me a comment with your thoughts!! <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue 2C, just a last bit of Fabri's pov.

The weeks that followed were filled with greetings and short talks and occasionally a visit for some drinks, and Fabrizio was glad for those moments spent with Ermal, he always enjoyed their time together, even if they were only friends. Ermal was a good friend, and he wanted to keep him around.

And it was good that Ermal was around. It was some time later that Fabrizio was ready to pick up Libero from school. Anita was staying with Romina, Libero had been on a school trip, and Fabrizio thought it would be nice to spend some time with his son, just the two of them together. Libero could tell him about the trip, and about anything else he might want to talk about. He was growing up so quickly, and Fabrizio wanted to make sure he was comfortable talking to him about anything.

Only, it turned out that he was already too late with that intention. Because when he spotted Libero in the school yard, he wasn’t alone, and he didn’t look too happy when he approached Fabrizio. In fact, he looked like he was trying not to cry and he wasn’t meeting his eyes. And Ermal was there, his hand on Libero’s shoulder.

Fabrizio took both of them to the car, to his house, while his thoughts ran circles around the question why Ermal was here, why Libero was crying, why, why?

He asked both Libero and Ermal to go to the living room, while he went to the kitchen to make the warm milk with honey and cinnamon he always made for the children when they were upset. Then, after a deep sigh, his nice afternoon with Libero now fallen to pieces, he went to the living room and handed out the mugs. He sat down next to Libero, and waited for the story behind all this.

It came, eventually, but not from Libero. Rather, Ermal took over, in the gentlest way, checking in with Libero when he was about to cry again. And the story was that Libero needed someone to come on the school trip, having promised his teacher Fabrizio could surely come. Only then he found out that Fabrizio had an interview, and he hadn’t wanted to make his father choose between those two things, between Libero and his career.

At least, that is what Ermal told him. And Fabrizio could see how it was probably true. He knew what Libero thought of his work, and he worried often if the irregular meetings and the tours and the unpredictability of his job weren’t taking a toll on his children, especially after those horrible few months…

He needed to talk to Libero, he needed to reassure him that Fabrizio would always be there for him, that he would always come first, no matter what chances he would have for his career. His children were more important, and it broke Fabrizio’s heart that they didn’t know that. How had he failed like this? Where had he gone wrong and led them to believe he wouldn’t choose them over _anything_?

He told Libero all those things, and hoped they would sink in, but also resolved to have another talk about this later, when they were both calmer. For now, it was enough to reassure Libero that he wasn’t upset, that he wasn’t disappointed, that he wasn’t anything negative at all. For now, it was enough to hug him, pull him close, tell him he loved him. And it worked, Libero felt better, giving him a watery smile, and Fabrizio gave him some space. It would be alright.

He made his way downstairs again, still a little disappointed in himself, and not only with himself when he noticed the empty living room. He’d hoped Ermal would stay a little longer, he really wanted someone to talk to right now. An adult, a friend, someone who knew what was going on in his life. And who better than Ermal, who was at the heart of this, with Libero coming to him for help too?

It was relief he felt most strongly, when Ermal’s voice replied “here” and Fabrizio found him in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter next to him, and didn’t even have to spell out his worries for Ermal to tell him exactly the right things. See, this was why he needed Ermal around. Ermal knew how to cheer him up. And now he needed to tell Ermal how he was appreciated, too, and do so while staring ahead, so he could pretend he wasn’t focused on the warmth radiating next to him.

Luckily, Ermal started speaking again, so Fabrizio couldn’t get too lost in his thoughts. But not only Ermal started speaking again, he started apologizing again for things he didn’t need to apologize for. He had helped Libero, like few people would, giving up a holiday and looking after a group of children he didn’t know. How could he ever think Fabrizio would be upset with him? How did he still think Fabrizio wouldn’t trust him with his children?

So Fabrizio told him that he did, that he did trust Ermal, and a small part of his mind was telling him his speech was too much, too intense, and the words he used too close to other words running through his mind, but it couldn’t stop him. And then he looked at Ermal, who looked back at him, and he was so close, and he was looking at his lips, and Fabrizio could just –

No. The small part of his mind was more powerful than he thought, luckily it was, but he couldn’t do anything, he shouldn’t do anything. Of course Ermal wasn’t looking at his lips, he was in a relationship. And Fabrizio wasn’t going to do anything to ruin that or the friendship he had.

So he stuck his head in the fridge, letting the chill air cool his cheeks before turning back to Ermal and offering dinner. Had Ermal noticed anything? If he’d leave now, Fabrizio would know enough, and he had actually ruined it. Then he would lose this friendship.

And yes, Ermal let out a polite “That’s kind, but no, I can’t tonight” and Fabrizio’s mind turned to cursing himself. Stupid. Why couldn’t he keep a check on himself? Ermal had been clear enough, those weeks ago, and Fabrizio knew where they stood. He should have tried so much harder to get his feelings under control…

But again, like so many times before, Ermal took him by surprise. He asked if he could come the next day, and even sounded a little insecure about it, as if he wouldn’t be welcome. Of course he would. And it would be even better, with Romina around. And someone Ermal brought. More people made for a smaller chance of things like this happening again.

Fabrizio knew that Ermal would most likely bring Marco. In fact, he was counting on that. It would be a reality check, a way to get himself under control, faced by the happy relationship he shouldn’t ruin. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to it, he knew it would hurt, to see Ermal like that, but he also knew it would be good for him, to see Ermal like that.

So, big was Fabrizio’s surprise when he didn’t see Marco the next day, when opening the door after Ermal had rung the doorbell. It took him a second to place the name, but then he knew. Mr Borsato, the one who wrote that letter. The one who knew something to make Ermal blush, though it hadn’t been what Fabrizio had hoped it might be.

He introduced the two to Romina, and then fell into a conversation with Mr Borsato. He found the man an easy person to talk to, with a wicked sense of humour just barely hidden beneath the surface. Time passed quickly until their dinner was ready and he could invite his guests to take a seat at the table. He tried for a second to tell Ermal he didn’t have to sit between the children, he could sit next to an adult, but gave up when Ermal persisted.

And if Fabrizio was honest, sitting opposite them, the view of Ermal between Libero and Anita was an endearing one. He fell back into the conversation with Mr Borsato that had been interrupted before, and he could understand why Ermal liked this man.

Wrapped up in conversation as he was himself, he didn’t quite know what went on on the other side of the table, Ermal laughing with Romina and Libero, talking with Anita. What he could see, though, was how Ermal passed on Anita’s olives to Libero’s plate, and Fabrizio smiled at that. His smile rather froze in place as he watched on, and Ermal sorted through his own salad, adding the cheese to Anita’s plate with a soft smile, and then his olives to Libero’s plate.

His stare was broken when Ermal met it, and Fabrizio concentrated on his own plate again, feeling a blush creep up over his cheeks, a blush that could surely be explained by the wine on the table. Ermal probably didn’t like olives, and gave them to Libero, and then gave his cheese to Anita to not make her feel left out. That was a likely explanation, but so sweet too. He didn’t have to do all that, and yet he did, he always did.

The evening continued, Romina and Mr Borsato leaving and Libero put to bed, until it was just Ermal and him left. Fabrizio knew he shouldn’t think like that, but it felt like this was what his life was supposed to be, him and Ermal together, waving off the guests, and then spending an evening together, as a family.

Those thoughts were only strengthened when Anita climbed up on Ermal’s lap and fell asleep. Fabrizio watched them, his own lap now suddenly feeling strangely empty. After other dinners, other nights, it would be his lap that Anita would curl up in. Still, it was a nice sight to look at, though dangerous too.

He watched them, and occasionally the TV too, when suddenly Ermal asked for the bowl of olives on the table, that he couldn’t quite reach with Anita still on his lap. Fabrizio could only stare at him for a second, trying to make everything fit together. Ermal didn’t like olives. He gave them to Libero.

Except he apparently loved olives. And still gave them to Libero.

He really was everything Fabrizio could ever look for in a partner, if only Ermal wasn’t in a relationship already… It could be so perfect, every night could be like this, and Fabrizio allowed himself to dream about that just a little, as he stared at the TV without seeing anything. He still noticed though, when the programme ended, and it was time to take Anita to her bed, no matter if he’d rather keep her on Ermal’s lap if that meant Ermal was staying a bit longer…

Ermal had to leave, though, and Fabrizio knew he had to get those thoughts under control. And he managed quite nicely, in the weeks that followed, occasionally spending time with Ermal, and behaving himself every time.

It helped that his thoughts were occupied by the upcoming holiday with Libero and Anita. There were suitcases to pack, clothes to buy and wash, toys to select, reservations to check.

Finally, they were at the airport, on time, they only needed to go through security and everything would be okay. Fabrizio sighed once, deeply, trying to get his nerves under control. Holidays were relaxing, yeah sure, but not the preparations.

Suddenly, his imaginings of the calm waiting after security was rudely disturbed by Libero and Anita, both ready to run off in opposite directions. Libero claimed he had seen some of his favourite football players, while Anita squealed she had seen Ermal.

Of course Anita won that little conflict of interests, and Libero and Fabrizio followed her towards Ermal, though Libero was still muttering about the football players. Fabrizio focused on that, because right now he couldn’t let himself think about the scene they walked into, Ermal and Marco, together, the latter’s arm around Ermal’s shoulders.

Somehow, he managed to greet them both, start a conversation, though the answer to his question left him wishing Libero had dragged them off to those football players, whether they were here or not, because Ermal and Marco were going to Paris. For a well-deserved holiday. Together. How nice. How romantic. How great for them.

He couldn’t form an answer, though, not now, and luckily he didn’t have to, because Libero did come to his rescue, dragging them off to join a quickly-forming crowd. Any other time, Fabrizio would have told him not to disrupt adult conversations like this, it wasn’t polite, but now he could only sigh in relief that at least that was over.

He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. Ermal was going on a holiday with his boyfriend, he deserved that. And Fabrizio went on holiday with his children, he deserved that and he would enjoy himself. He could put it out of his mind, and concentrate on his own life, on his family. He could focus on Libero’s excitement, on Anita’s wonder, and it would be enough.

And he would have managed, the holiday was great. A few weeks in Denmark, seeing different parts of the country. The first week they spent close to Legoland, they _had_ to, of course, renting a wooden cabin on a campsite. The weather was lovely, and Fabrizio felt better just by watching Libero and Anita run around, play games, make friends. In the evenings he cooked them dinner on the grill that came with the cabin, and sat on the little porch with a beer after the children went to bed.

Of course, those were the moments it was hardest to focus on what he did have, not on what he didn’t, but most of the time he managed. Still, his fingers ached for a guitar, if only to have a way to get rid of some of those feelings.

They moved on then, after a week, to a campsite near the sea. Again, they had a little cabin, and again, the children had the time of their lives, running wild across the beach, the three of them swimming even though the water was a tiny bit too cold, and enjoying the campsite’s playgrounds with the other children. This time, Fabrizio too, found people to talk to. A family from Switzerland was staying in the cabin next to his, the wife was actually Italian, and the husband also knew enough of the language to keep a simple conversation going. And what was even better, he had brought a guitar, that Fabrizio could borrow for a bit.

Yes, it would have been a perfectly nice holiday, without any (almost any) thoughts of Ermal, except that Fabrizio wasn’t the only one with his mind on a curly-haired mailman when he shouldn’t.

The first time it happened, they were in Aarhus for a daytrip, a city that was a bit further away than Fabrizio had anticipated, but it was well worth a visit, especially after a few days on their campsite in the middle of nowhere. He had missed this, the city life around him. He and the children were sitting on the stone steps down to the river, right next to the main shopping street, finishing their ice cream. Libero was just asking what else there was to see, when Anita put her almost empty cup of ice cream on the step next to her and jumped up, running off. Fabrizio wasn’t quick enough to catch her, so he scrambled up to follow her, making sure Libero was with him too.

He caught up to Anita a few steps away, so close, but still just too late to stop her from launching herself at the man that, in her defense, did have dark curly hair, but who was very much not Ermal.

Oh no.

Fabrizio stared at that, for a minute, before he got his bearings back and could peel Anita off the man, and start apologizing profusely. In Italian. In English. In any language at all. Luckily, the man didn’t seem to mind, he looked confused, but just laughed it off, walking away with a smile at Anita, who was hiding in Fabrizio’s chest now, suddenly uncharacteristically shy and waiting for her dad to pick up the pieces.

Fabrizio made sure he hadn’t lost Libero, and took them to a nearby bench, ready to have a talk. Anita could not just run off without saying anything, that was important. Besides, Ermal was not in Denmark, he was in France. They wouldn’t see him here. That was also important.

Anita pouted, and launched into a waterfall of explanations, but Fabrizio was not having it. This was something she shouldn’t have done, and there were no good reasons for her to do so, so he wasn’t listening to hers.

Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have listened to her and explained all the reasons one by one why they would not meet Ermal on their holiday. Because it happened again.

The second time they were visiting Odense, the city that was the birth place of H.C. Andersen. Of course they had to visit that, that and then the statue of the little mermaid in Copenhagen. They were making their way through the park, enjoying the shade the trees gave, and Fabrizio was lost in thought trying to remember if there was anything else they really had to see while they were there. And so he couldn’t quite react in time when Anita let go of his hand and skipped off towards a couple picnicking on the grass. In one glance, he saw what was up. The guy had some black curls peeking out from under a hat that did look a lot like one Ermal owned, but it wasn’t Ermal’s. Because it wasn’t Ermal.

Oh dear god, not again.

The “Anita, no!” he threw after her didn’t help, so again Fabrizio had to go up to this man, pick up Anita, and apologize. The apology came a bit smoother to him than the first time, but he felt how his cheeks heated up. It might be Anita’s eyes, glancing shyly at the man, but he too wasn’t angry or upset. And at least his girlfriend was enjoying herself, laughing at the expression on his face.

Fabrizio used this time to slip away, going back to Libero and taking both his children to yet another bench to explain that not all planes went to the same place and that the world was large. He patiently listened to all of Anita’s questions, countering all of them with very sensible replies, except for her last remark.

“I just really want to see Ermal again!”

What could he say to that, except a wishful “me too”?

There almost was a third time, waiting in line in the supermarket, but this time it was Libero with the fast reflexes. As soon as Anita jumped out of her bored slump against the shopping cart and started squealing, he grabbed her shoulders with a “It’s not Ermal, please stop embarrassing us!”.

Fabrizio wished he could avoid all cities, stay on that campsite with his borrowed guitar, but he couldn’t. Too soon, they had to move on, onwards to their final destination, Copenhagen. They had barely made their way through the first few streets away from their hotel, when Anita scrambled off again with a happy “Ermal”, and it was all Fabrizio could do to follow her again, rehearse those apologies in his mind, and hope this man was as unbothered as the previous two had been.

And he was. Of course he was, because it _was_ Ermal. Fabrizio could only stare at Ermal as he caught Anita’s jump, stare, as he swung her around, stare, as he set her back down again, stare, as he ruffled Libero’s hair, stare, as he approached Fabrizio and stood in front of him, a bright smile on his face.

He mindlessly answered Ermal’s question about his holiday, and then stood and stared some more, trying to figure out of Ermal was real, or just a figment of his imagination. Whatever he was, Fabrizio knew he wanted to spend more time with him if he could.

It seemed Ermal wanted the same, because he quickly accepted Fabrizio’s invitation for a drink, and the four of them made their way to one of the tables on the square. Slowly, Fabrizio realized that Ermal was really here, in Denmark.

He also realized something else. If Ermal was here, in Denmark, he wasn’t in Paris. And he was here alone, not with Marco. He was supposed to be in Paris with Marco, on their well-deserved holiday.

Why wasn’t he? What had happened? There was only one explanation for this, and in that case Ermal would no doubt not want to hear all about their great holiday, with all the amazing and fun stuff they had done – not when his own holiday had gone as badly as it possibly could have.

So Fabrizio tried to calm down Libero and Anita, though he wasn’t very successful at it. Meanwhile, he tried to figure out Ermal’s mood, what he was thinking… He seemed cheerful, genuinely happy to see them, but the latter fit well enough, and the cheerfulness might just be masterfully feigned.

A bit later, Fabrizio had his chance to find out how Ermal was really feeling. Libero and Anita were playing in the square now, it was just the two of them, and he couldn’t stop himself.

“I have to ask – where is Marco? Did you two break up? Ermal, are you okay?”

He asked it so carefully, not sure if he should, if Ermal wanted to share this, but he also remembered an afternoon where it had been Ermal asking the question how _he_ felt, and then it had been exactly what Fabrizio needed. He hoped he could help Ermal the same way now.

Only, it didn’t seem to be. The only thing he got was a confused look and a statement that Ermal and Marco were friends.

Right.

It stung a little, that Ermal didn’t trust him with this, that Ermal believed he would not accept this. Fabrizio had thought they were better friends than that. He had thought that Ermal knew him better than this.

Except that he apparently had it all wrong. Marco and Ermal weren’t together, they actually _were_ friends. Not boyfriends. Fabrizio had been so sure. What then, did this mean? Did he have any chance at all?

Probably not. Because what other reason could there possibly be for Ermal’s reaction that night on the couch? Fabrizio had thought he’d let him down gently because he was already in a relationship, but maybe the truth was that he’d let him down gently because he just wasn’t attracted to men.

And now he had made everything so awkward, with his assumptions and his questions… Still, he didn’t want Ermal to leave them again, they’d only just found him. So he invited him to come along with them, invited him for dinner, invited him on their sight-seeing tour of the next day. Every time Ermal agreed, Fabrizio felt something flutter in his stomach, though he tried to press it down. No chance, he had no chance, and he should forget about those stupid things that voice whispered at him.

The next morning, Fabrizio made Ermal the stupidest offer he could, or so he thought then. A bed in his rooms, because it would solve Ermal’s problem. It was what a friend would do, wasn’t it?

They spent the day together, and Fabrizio looked at the Mermaid, looked at the castles, looked at the souvenirs, looked at Ermal. He enjoyed this day, out in the Danish sun, on a holiday with his two children who loved every moment, smiling, laughing all the time.

At least, until they reached the hotel room, because that was the moment Anita decided to act up. She cried, and sobbed, and wailed, until Ermal was there with the solution.

Sharing the double bed.

Fabrizio agreed, because it would calm down Anita, and right now it was possibly the only thing that would calm down Anita. It only hit him when he was exiting the bathroom. He was sharing a bed. With Ermal. A whole night – no, two. How was he going to survive this? How was their friendship going to survive this?

He did the only thing he could do, he put everything out of his mind and went to sleep. If he allowed himself to think of this for even just a minute, all would be lost. So he didn’t.

He woke up sensing that something was different, and indeed, the mattress next to him was empty, and the door that separated the room from the children’s was open on a crack, a thin beam of light shining through. That wasn’t the only thing Fabrizio noticed, because soft singing also reached him. Ermal was singing his lullaby again.

Fabrizio sat up in the pillows, and he couldn’t help the soft smile on his face. He knew Anita might have had a nightmare, she had them sometimes when she was so very tired. His smile was for Ermal, who had stepped in to comfort her. He didn’t have to, in no way were the children his responsibility, but he took it anyway, and Fabrizio was grateful for that.

He told Ermal so, when he entered their room again, and some time later fell asleep again. Fabrizio didn’t know how much time had passed when he woke up again. He had to go to the bathroom. He didn’t want to get up, and he didn’t want to wake up Ermal, but he didn’t have a choice. He could at least keep the lights off, it wasn’t completely dark in the room anyway. He could make his way to the bathroom.

And he could. He only couldn’t make his way back to the bed. He tripped, and he woke Ermal. Or he would have, if he would have been asleep. He wasn’t, and Fabrizio wondered if that was his fault, Anita’s “you snore” echoing through his mind.

Ermal reassured him it wasn’t, so Fabrizio went on. What was occupying Ermal? Was there anything he could do to help?

Finally, Ermal started speaking, hesitating so much, at every word almost. And what he said was what Fabrizio had never expected to hear, not from Ermal’s lips at least.

_Caro, tesoro, amore mio_.

Those were words he hadn’t expected to hear, but he would take them, gladly. And they sounded so sweet on Ermal’s lips, with a hint of insecurity, but mostly they sounded like he meant them.

Fabrizio now focused on the heartbeat beneath his palm again, and snuggled a bit closer to Ermal, even though it was hardly possible. The curls were tickling his face, but he didn’t mind. This was all he had sometimes dreamt of, but never expected to really experience.

And yes, he had questions. Why had Ermal reacted like he had when he stayed at Fabrizio’s place? How long exactly had he hoped for this? How much time had they lost? How many misunderstandings had there been?

But he knew that the answers did not matter so much. He had certainties too. Him and Ermal, what they had, it was real. Ermal’s words, his tears, the way he had relaxed into Fabrizio’s arms as if he had fallen asleep in them a hundred times before, that was all real. All those hopes and dreams and wishes from the past months, they would be reality. And Fabrizio knew it would go well, their friendship had come so far, was so deep, and now they would only go beyond that.

In any other case he would have worried about Libero and Anita, what they thought of this development, but now he didn’t have to. He could wonder, but worries were not necessary. Both children liked Ermal, respected him, loved to spend time with him. It would be easy to find a place with them where he fit, because he just did.

Whatever would come next, he and Ermal could handle it, together. And they had another day in Copenhagen, another day of holidays, holidays that they didn’t start together, but that they would end together. And Fabrizio was looking forward to that, and to all days that would follow where he would be together with Ermal. He fell asleep again, with those thoughts in his head, with a smile on his lips, and with Ermal in his arms, ready for whatever would come next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ The End ~
> 
> I can only say, THANK YOU, for being with me on this journey! Thank you for all your reading, your comments, your kudos, and all the times you listened to me ramble on about this fic. Thank you <3
> 
> I had never expected when I started this that it would become so big, that OCs would start living their own lives, that random cities would be associated with this fic, or that it would take me two epilogues (in five parts) to actually, finally, properly finish this.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this last chapter, enjoyed this entire fic, and it would make me very happy that if you did, you left a comment with what you liked in particular.
> 
> Find me on tumblr, @raisedtokeepquiet, and also there I'm happy with any and all messages I'd get! <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [E alla mia squadra io gli voglio bene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839740) by [Sociallyawkwardwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sociallyawkwardwriter/pseuds/Sociallyawkwardwriter)




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